i 


OUR  FLAG  IS  THERE  ! 

We  trill  defend  it. 


of 


X 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL, 


COMPRISING 


TALES  OF  FIVE  LANDS, 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  PENCILINGS  BY  THE  WAY. 

y/s 


PUBLISHED   BY  S.   COLMAN, 

VIII    ASTOR    HOUSE. 

1840, 


.  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by 

S.   COLMAN, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  of  the  Uaited  States,  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New- York. 


PS  33  A4^ 


INSCRIBED  TO 

RUFUS    DAWES, 

WITH  THE  SINCEREST  FRIENDSHIP  OF 

THE    AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 


LADY  RAVELGOLD, 

•       a,        .        ]5 
PALETTO'S  BRIDE,        .... 

VIOLANTA  CESARINA,  .        .  / 

PASQUALI,  THE   TAILOR  OF  VENICE 

139 
THE  BANDIT  OF  AUSTRIA 

159 

DER  HOOFDEN,  OR  THE  UNDERCLIFF,    -        -        -        -         227 
THE  PICKER  AND  FILER 

'  247 

STRATFORD-ON-AVON 

"  269 

CHARLECOTE,     -        -       ^    V 


a  air » 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL. 


LADY  RAVELCOLD. 


CHAP.  I. 

"  What  would  it  pleasure  me  to  have  my  throat  cut 
With  diamonds  1  or  to  be  smothered  quick 
With  cassia,  or  be  shot  to  death  with  pearls !" 

DUCHESS  OF  MALFY. 


"  I've  been  i'  the  Indies  twice,  and  seen  strange  things — 
But  two  honest  women ! — One.  I  read  of  once  !" 

RULE  A  WIFE. 

IT  was  what  is  called  by  people  on  the  conti 
nent  a  "  London  day."  A  thin,  gray  mist  drizzled 
down  through  the  smoke  which  darkened  the  long 
cavern  of  Fleet-street ;  the  sidewalks  were  slippery 


16  ROMANCE     OP    TRAVEL, 

and  clammy  ;  the  drays  slid  from  side  to  side  on  the 
greasy  pavement,  creating  a  perpetual  clamour 
among  the  lighter  carriages  with  which  they  came 
in  contact ;  the  porters  wondered  that  "  gemmen" 
would  carry  their  umbrellas  up  when  there  was  no 
rain,  and  the  gentlemen  wondered  that  porters 
should  be  permitted  on  the  sidewalks ;  there  were 
passengers  in  box-coats  though  it  was  the  first  of 
May,  and  beggars  with  bare  breasts  though  it  was 
chilly  as  November ;  the  boys  were  looking  wist 
fully  into  the  hosier's  windows  who  were  generally 
at  the  pastry-cook's,  and  there  were  persons  who 
wished  to  know  the  time,  trying  in  vain  to  see  the 
dial  of  St.  Paul's  through  the  gambage  atmosphere. 
It  was  twelve  o'clock,  and  a  plain  chariot  with  a 
simple  cres"  on  the  panels,  slowly  picked  its  way 
through  the  choked  and  disputed  thoroughfare  east 
of  Temple  Bar.  The  smart  glazed  hat  of  the 
coachman,  the  well-fitted  drab  greatcoat  and  gaiters 
of  the  footman,  and  the  sort  of  half-submissive,  half- 
contemptuous  look  on  both  their  faces,  (implying 
that  they  were  bound  to  drive  to  the  devil  if  it  were 
miladi's  orders,  but  that  the  rabble  of  Fleet-street 
was  a  leetk  too  vulgar  for  their  contact,)  expressed 
very  plainly  that  the  lady  within  was  a  denizen  of  a 
more  privileged  quarter,  but  had  chosen  a  rainy 
day  for  some  compulsory  visit  to  '•  the  city." 


LADY    RAVELGOLD.  17 

At  the  rate  of  perhaps  a  mile  an  hour,  the  well- 
groomed  night  horses — (a  pair  of  smart,  hardy, 
twelve-mile  cabs,  all  bottom  but  little  style,  kept  for 
night- work  and  force.d  journeys) — had  threaded  the 
tortuous  entrails  of  London,  and  had  arrived  at  the 
arch  of  a  dark  court  in  Throgmorton-street.  The 
coachman  put  his  wheels  snug  against  the  edge  of 
the  sidewalk,  to  avoid  being  crushed  by  the  passing 
drays,  and  settled  his  many-caped  benjamin  about 
him ;  while  the  footman  spread  his  umbrella,  and 
making  a  balustrade  of  his  arm  for  his  mistresses 
assistance,  a  closely-veiled  lady  descended  and  dis 
appeared  up  the  wet  and  ill-paved  avenue. 

The  green-baize  door  of  Firkins  and  Co.  opened 
on  its  silent  hinges  and  admitted  the  mysterious  visi- 
ter,  who,  inquiring  if  the  nearest  clerk  of  the  junior 
partner  were  in,  was  showed  to  a  small  inner  room 
containing  a  desk,  two  chairs,  a  coal  fire,  and  a  young 
gentleman.  The  last  article  of  furniture  rose  on  the 
lady's  entrance,  and  as  she  threw  off  her  veil  he  made 
a  low  bow,  with  the  air  of  a  gentleman,  who  is  neither 
surprised  nor  embarrassed,  and  pushing  aside  the 
door-check,  they  were  left  alone. 

There  was  that  forced  complaisance  in  the  lady's 
manner  on  her  first  entrance,  which  produced  the 
slightest  possible  elevation  in  a  very  scornful  lip 
owned  by  the  junior  partner,  but  the  lady  was  only 
forty-five,  high-born,  and  very  handsome,  and  as  she 
2* 


18  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

looked  at  the  fine  specimen  of  nature's  nobility,  who 
met  her  with  a  look  as  proud  and  yet  as  gentle  as 
her  own,  the  smoke  of  Fleet-street  passed  away 
from  her  memory,  and  she  became  natural  and  even 
gracious.  The  effect  upon  the  junior  partner  was 
simply  that  of  removing  from  his  breast  the  shade 
of  her  first  impression. 

"  I  have  brought  you,"  said  his  visiter,  drawing  a 
card  from  her  reticule,  "an  invitation  to  the  dutchess 
of  Hautaigle's  ball.  She  sent  me  half  a  dozen  to 
fill  up  for  what  she  calls  '  ornamentals' — and  I  am 
sure  I  shall  scarce  find  another  who  comes  so  deci 
dedly  under  her  grace's  category." 

The  fair  speaker  had  delivered  this  pretty  speech 
in  the  sweetest  and  best-bred  tone  of  St.  James's, 
looking  the  while  at  the  toe  of  the  small  brodequin 
which  she  held  up  to  the  fire — perhaps  thinking  only 
of  drying  it.  As  she  concluded  her  sentence,  she 
turned  to  her  companion  for  an  answer,  and  was 
surprised  at  the  impassive  politeness  of  his  bow  of 
acknowledgment. 

"  I  regret  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  avail  myself 
of  your  ladyship's  kindness,"  said  the  junior  partner, 
in  the  same  well-enunciated  tone  of  courtesy. 

"  Then,"  replied  the  lady  with  a  smile,  "  Lord 
Augustus  Fitz-Moi,  who  looks  at  himself  all  dinner 
time  in  a  spoon,  will  be  the  Apollo  of  the  hour. — 
What  a  pity  such  a  handsome  creature  should  be 


LADY     RAVELGOLD.  19 

so  vain !  By  the  way,  Mr.  Firkins,  you  live  without 
a  looking-glass,  I  see." 

"  Your  ladyship  reminds  me  that  this  is  merely  a 
place  of  business.  May  I  ask  at  once  what  errand 
has  procured  me  the  honour  of  a  visit  on  so  unplea 
sant  a  day  ?" 

A  slight  flush  brightened  the  cheek  and  forehead 
of  the  beautiful  woman,  as  she  compressed  her  lips, 
and  forced  herself  to  say  with  affected  ease,  "  the 
want  of  five  hundred  pounds." 

The  junior  partner  paused  an  instant  while  the 
lady  tapped  with  her  boot  upon  the  fender  in  ill- 
dissembled  anxiety,  and  then,  turning  to  his  desk,  he 
filled  up  the  check  without  remark,  presented  it,  and 
took  his  hat  to  wait  on  her  to  her  carriage.  A  gleam 
of  relief  and  pleasure  shot  over  her  countenance  as 
she  closed  her  small  jewelled  hand  over  it,  followed 
immediately  by  a  look  of  embarrassed  inquiry  into 
the  face  of  the  unquestioning  banker. 

"  I  am  in  your  debt  already." 

"  Thirty  thousand  pounds,  madam  !" 

"  And  for  this  you  think  the  securities  on  the  estate 
ofRockland— " 

"Are  worth  nothing,  madam!  But  it  rains.  I 
regret  that  your  ladyship's  carriage  cannot  come  to 
the  door.  In  the  old-fashioned  days  of  sedan-chairs, 
now,  the  dark  courts  of  Lothbury  must  have  been 


20  ROMANCE    OP    TRAVEL. 

more  attractive.  By  the  way,  talking  of  Lothbury, 
there  is  Lady  Roseberry's/efe  champetre  next  week. 
If  you  should  chance  to  have  a  spare  card " 

"  Twenty,  if  you  like — I  am  too  happy — really, 
Mr.  Firkins " 

"  It's  on  the  fifteenth ;  I  shall  have  the  honour  of 
seeing  your  ladyship  there  !  Good  morning  !  Home, 
coachman !" 

"Does  this  man  love  me?"  was  Lady  Ravelgold's 
first  thought,  as  she  sank  back  in  her  returning  cha 
riot.  Yet  no !  he  was  even  rude  in  his  haste  to  be 
rid  of  me.  And  I  would  willingly  have  staid,  too, 
for  there  is  something  about  him  of  a  mart  that  I 
like.  Ay,  and  he  must  have  seen  it — a  lighter 
encouragement  has  been  interpreted  more  readily. 
Five  hundred  pounds !  Really  five  hundred  pounds! 
And  thirty  thousand  at  the  back  of  it !  What  does 
he  mean  ?  Heavens,  if  he  should  be  deeper  than  I 
thought !  If  he  should  wish  to  involve  me  first !" 

And  spite  of  the  horrour  with  which  the  thought 
was  met  in  the  mind  of  Lady  Ravelgold,  the  blush 
over  her  forehead  died  away  into  a  half  smile  and  a 
brighter  tint  in  her  lips;  and  as  the  carriage  wound 
slowly  on  through  the  confused  press  of  Fleet-street 
and  the  Strand,  the  image  of  the  handsome  and 
haughty  young  banker  shut  her  eyes  from  all  sounds 
without,  and  she  was  at  her  own  door  in  Grosvenor- 


LADY    RAVELGOLI).  21 

square  before  she  had  changed  position  or  wandered 
for  half  a  moment  from  the  subject  of  those  busy 
dreams. 


CHAP.   II. 

The  morning  of  the  fifteenth  of  May  seemed  to 
have  been  appointed  by  all  the  flowers  as  a  jubilee 
of  perfume  and  bloom.  The  birds  had  been  invited 
and  sang  in  the  summer  with  a  welcome  as  full- 
throated  as  a  prim  a  donna  singing  down  the  tenor 
in  a  duet ;  the  most  laggard  buds  turned  out  their 
hearts  to  the  sunshine,  and  promised  leaves  on  the 
morrow,  and  that  portion  of  London  that  had  been 
invited  to  Lady  Roseberry's  fete,  thought  it  a  very 
fine  day !  That  portion  which  was  not,  wondered 
how  people  would  go  sweltering  about  in  such  a 
glare  for  a  cold  dinner! 

At  about  half-past  two,  a  very  elegant  dark  green 
cab  without  a  crest,  and  with  a  servant  in  whose 
slight  figure  and  plain  blue  livery  there  was  not  a 
fault,  whirled  out  at  the  gate  of  the  Regent's  Park, 
and  took  its  way  up  the  well-watered  road  leading 
to  Hampstead.  The  gentlemen  whom  it  passed  or 
met  turned  to  admire  the  performance  of  the  dark 
gray  horse,  and  the  ladie.s  looked  after  the  cab  as  if 
they  could  see  the  handsome  occupant  once  more 
through  its  leather  back.  Whether  by  conspiracy 


22  ROMANCE     OF    TRAVEL. 

among  the  coach-makers,  or  by  an  aristocracy  of 
taste,  the  degree  of  elegance  in  a  turn-out  attained 
by  the  cab  just  described,  is  usually  confined  to  the 
acquaintances  of  Lady ;  that  list  being  under 
stood  to  enumerate  all  "  the  nice  young  men"  of  the 
West  end,  beside  the  guardsmen.  (The  ton  of  the 
latter,  in  all  matters  that  affect  the  style  of  the 
regiment,  is  looked  after  by  the  club  and  the  colonel.) 
The  junior  Firkins  seemed  an  exception  to  this 
exclusive  rule.  No  "  nice  man"  could  come  from 

Lothbury,  and  he  did  not  visit  Lady ;  but  his 

horse  was  faultless,  and  when  he  turned  into  the 
gate  of  Rose-Eden,  the  policeman  at  the  porter's 
lodge,  though  he  did  not  know  him,  thought  it 
unnecessary  to  ask  for  his  name.  Away  he  spat 
tered  up  the  hilly  avenue,  and  giving  the  reins  to 
his  groom  at  the  end  of  a  green  arbour  leading  to 
the  reception-lawn,  he  walked  in  and  made  his  bow 
to  Lady  Roseberry,  who  remarked,  "  How  very 
handsome  !  Who  can  he  be  ?"  and  the  junior  partner 
walked  on  and  disappeared  down  an  avenue  of 
laburnums. 

Ah !  but  Rose-Eden  looked  a  Paradise  that  day  ! 
Hundreds  had  passed  across  the  close-shaven  lawn, 
with  a  bow  to  the  lady-mistress  of  this  fair  abode. 
Yet  the  grounds  were  still  private  enough  for  Milton's 
pair,  so  lost  were  they  in  the  green  labyrinths  of  hill 
and  dale.  Some  had  descended  through  heavily- 


LADY    RAVELGOLD.  23 

shaded  paths  to  a  fancy-dairy,  built  over  a  fountain 
in  the  bottom  of  a  cool  dell ;  and  here,  amid  her 
milk-pans  of  old  and  costly  china,  the  prettiest  maid 
in  the  country  round  pattered  about  upon  a  floor  of 
Dutch  tiles,  and  served  her  visiters  with  creams  and 
ices  ;  already,  as  it  were,  adapted  to  fashionable 
comprehension.  Some  had  strayed  to  the  orna 
mental  cottages  in  the  skirts  of  the  flower-garden — 
poetical  abodes,  built  from  a  picturesque  drawing, 
with  imitation  roughness;  thatch,  lattice- window, 
and  low  pa  ling,  all  complete ;  and  inhabited  by  super 
annuated  dependants  of  Lord  Roseberry,  whose  only 
duties  were  to  look  like  patriarchs,  and  give  tea  and 
new  cream-cheese  to  visiters  on  fete-days.  Some 
had  gone  to  see  the  silver  and  gold  pheasants  in 
their  wire-houses — stately  aristocrats  of  the  game 
tribe,  who  carry  their  finely-pencilled  feathers  like 
"  Marmalet  Madarus,"  strutting  in  hoop  and  farthin 
gale.  Some  had  gone  to  the  kennels,  to  see  setters 
and  pointers,  hounds  and  terriers,  lodged  like  gen 
tlemen,  each  breed  in  its  own  apartment ;  the  pup 
pies,  as  elsewhere,  treated  with  most  attention. 
Some  were  in  the  flower-garden,  some  in  the  green 
houses,  some  in  the  graperies,  aviaries,  and  grottoes ; 
and  at  the  side  of  a  bright  sparkling  fountain,  in  the 
recesses  of  a  fir-grove,  with  her  foot  upon  its  marble 
lip,  and  one  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  a  small  Cupid 
who  archly  made  a  drinking-cup  of  his  wing,  and 


24  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL, 

caught  the  bright  water  as  it  fell,  stood  Lady  Imogen 
Ravelgold,  the  loveliest  girl  of  nineteen  that  prayed 
night  and  morning  within  the  parish  of  May  Fair, 
listening  to  very  passionate  language  from  the  young 
banker  of  Lothbury. 

A  bugle  on  the  lawn  rang  a  recall.  From  every 
alley,  and  by  every  path,  poured  in  the  gay  multi 
tude,  and  the  smooth  sward  looked  like  a  plateau  of 
animated  flowers,  waked  by  m  gic  from  a  broidery 
on  green  velvet.  Ah  !  the  beautiful  demi-toikttes ! 
— so  difficult  to  attain,  yet,  when  attained,  the  dress 
most  modest,  most  captivating,  most  worthy  the 
divine  grace  of  woman.  Those  airy  hats,  shelter 
ing  from  the  sun,  yet  not  enviously  concealing  a 
feature  or  a  ringlet  that  a  painter  would  draw  for 
his  exhibition  picture !  Those  summery  and  shape 
ly  robes,  covering  the  person  more  to  show  its 
outline  better,  and  provoke  more  the  worship,  which, 
like  all  worship,  is  made  more  adoring  by  mystery  ! 
Those  complexions  which  but  betray  their  transpa 
rency  in  the  sun :  lips  in  which  the  blood  is  translucent 
when  between  you  and  the  light:  cheeks  finer-grained 
than  alabaster,  yet  as  cool  in  their  virgin  purity  as 
a  tint  in  the  dark  corner  of  a  Ruysdael :  the  human 
race  was  at  less  perfection  in  Athens  in  the  days  of 
Lais— in  Egypt  in  the  days  of  Cleopatra,  than  that 
day  on  the  lawn  of  Rose-Eden. 


LADY   RAVELGOLD*  25 

Cart-loads  of  ribands,  of  every  gay  colour,  had 
been  laced  through  the  trees  in  all  directions  ;  and 
amid  every  variety  of  foliage,  and  every  shade  of 
green,  the  tulip-tints  shone  vivid  and  brilliant,  like 
an  A  merican  forest  after  the  first  frost.  From  the 
left  edge  of  the  lawn,  the  ground  suddenly  sunk  into 
a  dell,  shaped  like  an  amphitheatre,  with  a  level 
platform  at  its  bottom,  and  all  around,  above  and 
below,  thickened  a  shady  wood.  The  music  of  a 
delicious  band  stole  up  from  the  recesses  of  a  grove, 
draped  as  an  orchestra  and  green-room  on  the  lower 
side,  and  while  the  audience  disposed  themselves  in 
the  shade  of  the  upper  grove,  a  company  of  players 
and  dancing-girls  commenced  their  theatricals. — 
Imogen  Ravelgold,  who  was  separated,  by  a  pine 
tree  only,  from  the  junior  partner,  could  scarce  tell 
you,  when  it  was  finished,  what  was  the  plot  of  the 
play. 

The  recall-bugle  sounded  again,  and  the  band 
wound  away  from  the  lawn,  playing  a  gay  march. 
Followed  lady  Roseberry  and  her  suite  of  gentlemen, 
followed  dames  and  their  daughters,  followed  all 
who  wished  to  see  the  flight  of  my  lord's  falcons. 
By  a  narrow  path  and  a  wicket-gate,  the  long  music- 
guided  train  stole  out  upon  an  open  hill-side,  looking 
down  on  a  verdant  and  spreading  meadow.  The 
band  played  at  a  short  distance  behind  the  gay 
groups  of  spectators,  and  it  was  a  pretty  picture  to 
3 


2  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL^ 

look  down  upon  the  splendidly-dressed  falconer  and 
his  men,  holding  their  fierce  birds  upon  their  wrists, 
in  their  hoods  and  jesses,  a  foreground  of  old  chivalry 
and  romance  ;  while  far  beyond  extended,  like  a  sea 
over  the  horizon,  the  smoke-clad  pinnacles  of  busy 
and  every-day  London.  There  are  such  contrasts 
of  the  eyes  of  the  rich  I 

The  scarlet  hood  was  taken  from  the  trustiest 
falcon,  and  a  dove,  confined,  at  first,  wit  \  a  string, 
was  thrown  up,  and  brought  back,  to  excite  his 
attention.  As  he  fixed  his  eye  upon  him,  the  fright 
ened  victim  was  let  loose,  and  the  falcon  flung  off; 
away  skimmed  the  dove  in  a  low  flight  over  the 
meadow,  and  up  to  the  very  zenith,  in  circles  of 
amazing  swiftness  and  power,  spc<5  the  exulting 
falcon,  apparently  forgetful  of  his  prey,  and  bound 
for  the  eye  of  the  sun  with  his  strong  wings  and  .his 
liberty.  The  falconers  whistle  and  cry  were  heard ; 
the  dove  circled  round  the  edge  of  the  meadow  in  his 
wavy  flight;  and  down,  with  the  speed  of  lightning, 
shot  the  falcon,  striking  his  prey  dead  to  the  earth 
before  the  eye  could  settle  on  his  form.  As  the 
proud  bird  stood  upon  his  victim,  looking  around 
with  a  lifted  crest  and  fierce  eye,  Lady  Imogen  Ra- 
vengold  heard,  in  a  voice  of  which  her  heart  knew 
the  musick,  "They  who  soar  highest  strike  surest 
the  dove  lies  in  the  falcon's  bosom." 


L  AD  Y    H  A  VELGOLD 


CHAP.   III. 

The  afternoon  had,  meantime,  been  wearing  'on. 
and  at  six  the  "  breakfast"  was  announced.  The 
-tents  beneath  which  the  tables  were  spread  were  in 
different  parts  of  the  grounds,  and  the  guests  had 
made  up  their  own  parties.  Each  sped  to  his  ren 
dezvous,  and  as  the  last  loiterers  disappeared  from 
the  lawn,  a  gentleman  in  a  claret  coat  and  a  brown 
study,  found  himself  stopping  to  let  a  lady  pass  who 
had  obeyed  the  summons  as  tardily  as  himself.  In 
i  white  chip  hat,  Hairbault's  last,  a  few  lilies  of  the 
valley  laid  among  her  raven  curls  beneath,  a  simple 
white  robe,  the  chsf-d'ceuvre  of  Vlctotine  in  style 
and  toum^re,  Lady  Ravelgold  would  have  been  the 
belle  of  th3  fete,  but  for  her  daughter. 

"  Well  emerged  from  Lothbury  !"  she  said,  curt 
sying,  with  a  slight  flush  over  her  features,  but 
immediately  taking  his  arm  ;  "  I  have  lost  my  party, 
and  meeting  you  is  opportune.  Where  shall  we 
breakfast  ?" 

There  was  a  small  tent  standing  invitingly  open 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lawn,  and  by  the  fainter 
rattle  of  soup-spoons  from  that  quarter,  it  promised 
to  be  less  crowded  than  the  others.  The  junior 
partner  would  willingly  have  declined  the  proffered 


£8  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

honour,  but  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was  no 
escape,  and  submitted  with  a  grace. 

"  You  know  very  few  people  here,"  said  his  fair 
creditor,  taking  the  bread  from  her  napkin. 
"  Your  ladyship  and  one  other." 
"  Ah,  we  shall  have  dancing  by  and  by,  and  I 
must  introduce  you  to  my  daughter.     By  the  way, 
have  you  no  name  from  your  mother's  side?     *  Fir 
kins'   sounds  so  very  odd.     Give  me  some  pretter 
word  to  drink  in  this  champagne." 
"  What  do  you  think  of  Tremlet?" 
"Too  effeminate  for  your  severe  style  of  beauty — 
but  it  will  do.     Mr.  Tremlet,  your  health !     Will  you 
give  me  a  little  of  the  pate  before  you  ?     Pray,  if  it 
is  not  indiscreet,  how  comes  that  classick  profile,  and, 
more  surprising  still,  that  distinguished  look  of  yours, 
to  have  found  no  gayer  destiny  than  the  signing  of 
'  Firkins  and  Co.'  to  notes  of  hand  ?  Though  I  thought 
you  became  your  den  in  Lothbury,  upon  my  honour 
you  look  more  at  home  here." 

And  Lady  Ravengold  fixed  her  superb  eyes  upon 
the  beautiful  features  of  her  companion,  wondering 
partly  why  he  did  not  speak,  and  partly  why  she 
had  not  observed  before  that  he  was  incomparably 
the  handsomest  creature  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  I  can  regret  no  vocation,"  he  answered  after  a 
moment,  "  which  procures  me  an  acquaintance  with, 
your  ladyship's  family/' 


LADYRAVELGOLP.  29 

""  There  is  an  arriere pensee  in  that  formal  speech, 
Mr.  Tremlet.  You  are  insincere.  I  am  the  only 
one  in  my  family  whom  you  know,  and  what  plea 
sure  have  you  taken  in  my  acquaintance  ?  And, 
now  I  think  of  it,  there  is  a  mystery  about  you, 
which,  but  for  the  noble  truth  written  so  legibly  on 
your  features,  I  should  be  afraid  to  fathom.  Why 
have  you  suffered  me  to  over-draw  my  credit  so 
enormously,  and  without  a  shadow  of  a  protest?" 

When  Lady  Ravelgold  had  disburdened  her  heart 
of  this  direct  question,  she  turned  half  round  and 
looked  her  companion  in  the  face  with  an  intense 
interest,  which  produced  upon  her  own  features  an 
expression  of  earnestness  very  uncommon  upon 
their  pale  and  impassive  lines.  She  was  one  of 
those  persons  of  little  thought,  who  care  nothing  foi 
causes  or  consequences,  so  that  the  present  difficul 
ty  is  removed,  or  the  present  hour  provided  with  its 
^ings ;  but  the  repeated  relief  she  had  received  from 
the  young  banker,  when  total  ruin  would  have  been 
the  consequence  of  his  refusal,  and  his  marked  cold 
ness  in  his  manner  to  her,  had  stimulated  the  utmost 
curiosity  of  which  she  was  capable.  Her  vanity, 
founded  upon  her  high  rank  and  great  renown  as  a 
beauty,  would  have  agreed  that  he  might  be  willing 
to  get  her  into  his  power  at  that  price,  had  he  been 
less  agreeable  in  his  own  person,  or  more  eager  in 
his  manner.  But  she  .had  wanted  money  sufficiently 


SO  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL, 

to  know,  that  thirty  thousand  pounds  are  not  a  ba 
gatelle,  and  her  brain  was  busy  till  she  discovered 
the  equivalent  he  sought  for  it.  Meant'me  her  fear 
that  he  would  turn  out  to  be  a  lover,  grew  rapidly 
into  a  fear  that  he  would  not. 

Lady  Ravelgold  had  been  the  wife  of  a  disso 
lute  earl,  who  had  died,  leaving  his  estate  inex 
tricably  involved.  With  no  male  heir  to  the  title 
or  proparty,  and  no  very  near  relation,  the  beautiful 
.  widow  shut  her  eyes  to  the  difficulties  by  which 
she  was  surrounded,  and  at  the  first  decent  moment 
after  the  death  of  her  lord,  she  had  re-entered  the 
gay  society  of  which  she  had  been  the  bright  and 
particular  star,  and  never  dreamed  either  of  dimi 
nishing  her  establishment,  or  of  calculating  her  pos 
sible  income.  The  first  heavy  draft  she  had  made 
upon  the  house  of  Firkins  and  Co.,  her  husband's 
bankers,  had  been  returned  with  a  statement  of  the 
Ravelgold  debt  and  credit  on  their  books,  by  which 
it  appeared  that  Lord  Ravelgold  had  overdrawn 
four  or  five  thousand  pounds  before  his  death,  and 
that  from  some  legal  difficulties,  nothing  could  be 
realized  from  the  securities  given  on  his  estates. 
This  bad  news  arrived  on  the  morning  of  a  fete  to 
be  given  by  the  Russian  ambassador,  at  which  her 
only  child,  Lady  Imogen,  was  to  make  her  debut  in 
society.  With  the  facility  of  disposition  which  was 
peculiar  to  her,  Lady  Ravelgold  thrust  the  papers 


I*ADYRAVELGOLD.  31 

into  her  drawer,  and  determining  to  visit  her  banker 
on  the  following  morning,  threw  the  matter  entirely 
from  her  mind  and  made  preparations  for  the  ball. 
With  the  Russian  government  the  house  of  Firkins 
and  Co.  had  long  carried  on  very  extensive  fiscal 
transactions,  and  in  obedience  to  instruction^jrom 
the  emperor,  regular  invitations  for  the  embassy 
*etes  were  sent  to  the  bankers,  accepted  occasion 
ally  by  tli3  junior  partner  only,  who  was  generally 
supposed  to  be  a  natural  son  of  old  Firkins.  Out 
of  the  banking-house  he  was  known  as  Mr.  Trem- 
let,  and  it  was  by  this  name,  which  was  presumed 
to  be  his  mother's,  that  he  was  casually  introduced 
to  Lady  Imogen  on  the  night  of  the  fete,  while  she 
was  separated  from  her  mother  in  the  dancing- 
room.  The  consequence  was  a  sudden,  d?ep,  in 
effaceable  passion  in  the  bosom  of  the  young  bank 
er,  checked  and  silenced,  but  never  lessened  or 
chilled  by  the  recollection  of  the  obstacle  of  his 
birth.  The  impression  of  his  subdued  manner,  his 
worshipping,  yet  most  respectful  tones,  and  the 
bright  soul  that  breathed  through  his  handsome 
features  with  his  unusual  excitement,  was,  to  say 
the  least,  favourable  upon  Lady  Imogen,  and  they 
parted  on  the  night  of  the  fate,  mutually  aware  of 
each  other's  preference. 

On  th3  following  morn:ng  Lady  Ravelgold  made 
her  proposed  visit  to  tho  city;  and  inquiring  for 


32  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

Mr.  Firkins,  was  shown  in  as  usual  to  the  junior 
partner,  to  whom  the  colloquial  business  of  the  con 
cern  had  long  been  entrusted.  To  her  surprise  she 
found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  sum  of  money 
which  had  been  refused  her  on  the  preceding  day — 
a  result  which  she  attributed  to  her  powers  of  per 
suasion,  or  to  some  new  turn  in  the  affairs  of  the 
estate  ;  and  for  two  years  these  visits  had  been  re 
peated  at  intervals  of  three  or  four  months,  with  the 
same  success,  though  not  with  the  same  delusion  as 
to  the  cause.  She  had  discovered  that  the  estate 
was  worse  than  nothing,  and  the  junior  partner 
cared  little  to  prolong  his  t2tes-d-tetss  with  her,  and, 
up  to  the  visit  with  which  this  tale  opened,  she  had 
looked  to  every  succeeding  one  with  increased  fear 
and  doubt. 

During  these  two  years,  Tremlet  had  seen  Lady 
Imogen  ocsasionally  at  balls  and  public  places,  and 
every  look  they  exchanged  wove  more  strongly  be 
tween  them  the  subtle  threads  of  love.  Once  or 
twice  she  had  endeavoured  to  interest  her  mother 
in  conversation  on  the  subject,  with  the  intention  of 
of  making  a  confidence  of  her  feelings ;  but  Lady 
Ravengold,  when  not  anxious,  was  giddy  with  her 
own  success,  and  the  unfamiliar  name  never  rested 
a  moment  on  her  ear.  With  this  explanation  to 
render  the  tale  intelligible,  "  let  us,"  as  the  French 
say,  "  return  to  our  muttons." 


LADY     RAVE  I,  GOLD.  33 

Of  the  conversation  between  Tremlet  and  her 
mother,  Lady  Imogen  was  an  unobserved  and  asto 
nished  witness.  The  tent  which  they  had  entered 
was  large,  with  a  buffet  in  the  centre,  and  a  circu 
lar  table  waited  on  by  servants  within  the  ring ;  and, 
just  concealed  by  the  drapery  around  the  pole,  sat 
Lady  Imogen  with  a  party  of  her  friends,  discussing 
very  seriously  the  threatened  fashion  of  tight  sleeves. 
She  had  half  risen,  when  her  mother  entered,  to 
offer  her  a  seat  by  her  side,  but  the  sight  of  Tremlet, 
who  immediately  followed,  had  checked  the  words 
upon  her  lip,  and  to  her  surprise  they  seated  them 
selves  on  the  side  that  was  wholly  unoccupied, !  and 
conversed  in  a  tone  inaudible  to  all  but  themselves. 
Not  aware  that  her  lover  knew  Lady  Ravelgold, 
she  supposed  that  they  might  have  been  casually 
introduced,  till  the  earnestness  of  her  mother's  man 
ner,  and  a  certain  ease  between  them  in  the  little 
courtesies  of  the  table,  assured  her  that  this  could 
not  be  their  first  interview.  Tremlet's  face  was 
turned  from  her,  and  she  could  not  judge  whether 
he  was  equally  interested ;  but  she  had  been  so  ac 
customed  to  consider  her  mother  as  irrisistible  when 
she  chose  to  please,  that  she  supposed  it  of  course ; 
and  very  soon  the  heightened  colour  of  Lady  Ra 
velgold,  and  the  unwavering  look  of  mingled  admi 
ration  and  curiosity  which  she  bent  upon  the  hand 
some  face  of  her  companion,  left  no  doubt  in  her 


34  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

mind  that  her  reserved  and  exclusive  lover  was  in 
Ihe  dangerous  toils  of  a  rival  whose  power  sho 
knew.  From  the  mortal  pangs  of  a  first  jealousy, 
heaven  send  thee  deliverance,  fair  Lady  Imogen  ! 

"  We  shall  find  our  account  in  the  advances  on 
your  ladyship's  credit ;"  said  Tremlet,  in  reply  to 
the  direct  question  that  was  put  to  him.  "  Mean 
time  permit  me  to  ad  mire  the  courage  with  which 
you  look  so  disagreeable  a  subject  in  the  face." 

"  For  *  disagreeable  subject/  read  '  Mr.  Tremlet.' 
I  show  my  temerity  more  in  that.  Apropos  effaces, 
yours  would  become  the  new  fashion  of  cravat.  The 
men  at  Crockford's  slip  the  ends  through  a  ring  of 
their  lady-love's,  if  they  chance  to  have  one — thus  P' 
and  untying  the  loose  knot  of  his  black  satin  cravat, 
Lady  Ravelgold  slipped  over  the  ends  a  diamond 
of  small  value,  conspicuously  set  in  pearls. 

"  The  men  at  Crockford's,"  said  Tremlet,  hesita 
ting  to  commit  the  rudeness  of  removing  the  ring, 
"  are  not  of  my  school  of  manners.  If  I  had  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  inspire  a  lady  with  a  preference 
for  me,  I  should  not  advertise  it  on  my  cravat." 

"  But  suppose  the  lady  were  proud  of  her  prefer 
ence,  as  dames  were  of  the  devotion  of  their  knights 
in  the  days  of  chivalry — would  you  not  wear  her 
favour  as  conspicuously  as  they  ?" 

A  flush  of  mingled  embarrassment  and  surprise 
shot  over  the  forehead  of  Tremlet,  and  he  was 


LADYRAVELGOLu.  35 

turning  the  ring  with  his  fingers,  when  Lady  Imo 
gen,  attempting  to  pass  out  of  the  tent,  was  stopped 
by  her  mother. 

"  Imogen,   my   daughter !  this  is  Mr.  TremleL 
Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold,  Mr.  Tremlet !" 

The  cold  and  scarce  perceptible  bow  which  tht 
wounded  girl  gave  to  her  lover,  betrayed  no  pre 
vious  acquaintance  to  the  careless  Lady  Ravelgold. 
Without  giving  a  second  thought  to  her  daughter, 
she  held  her  glass  for  some  champagne  to  a  passing 
servant,  and  as  Lady  Imogen  and  her  friends  cross 
ed  the  lawn  to  the  dancing  tent,  she  resumed  the 
conversation  which  they  had  interrupted ;  while 
Tremlet,  with  his  heart  brooding  on  the  altered  look 
he  had  received,  listened  and  replied  almost  uncon 
sciously  ;  yet  from  this  very  circumstance,  in  a  man 
ner  which  was  interpreted  by  his  companion  as  the 
embarrassment  of  a  timid  and  long-repressed  pas 
sion  for  herself. 

While  Lady  Ravelgold  and  the  junior  partner 
were  thi  s   playing  at    cross  purposes  over  their 
champagne   and  bons-bons,   Grisi    and    Lablanche 
were  singing  a  duet  from  /  Puritani,  to  a  full  au 
dience  in  the  saloon ;  the  drinking  young  men  sat 
over  their  wine  at  the  nearly  deserted  tables ;  Lady 
Imogen  and  her  friends  waltzed  to  Collinet's  bane 
and  the  artizans  were  busy  b';bw  the  lawn,  erectin; 
the  machinery  for  the  fire-works.    Meantime  ever 


iUi  ROMANCE     OF     T  R  A  V  K  I. - 

alloy  and  avenue,  grot  and  labyrinth,  had  boon  dimly 
illuminated  with  coloured  lamps,  showing  like  vari 
coloured  glow-worms  amid  the  foliage  and  shells; 
ami  if  the  bright  scenery  of  RoeoEden  had  been 
lovely  by  day,  it  xvas  lay-land  and  \vileliery  by 
night.  Fatal  impulse  of  our  nature,  that  these  ap 
proaches  to  paradise  in  the  "delight  of  the  eye." 
stir  only  in  our  bosoms  the  passions  upon  which  law 
and  holy  \vr.it  have  put  ban  and  bridle! 

»*  Shall  \ve  stroll  down  this  alley  of  crimson 
lamps'"  said  Lady  Uavclgold,  crossing  the  lawn 
from  the  tent  where  their  eollee  had  been  brought 
to  them,  and  putting  her  slender  arm  far  into  that 
of  her  now  pale  and  silent  companion. 

A  lady  in  a  white  dr.  t  the  i  ntranco  of 

that  crimson  a\enue.  as  Tromlot  and  his  passionate 
adtoirer  disappeared  beneath  the  clos'n^  lines  of  the 
long  jHTspeetive,  and.  rem:iiniii;y  a  moment  gazing 
through  the  unbroken  twinkle  of  the  confusing 
lamps,  she  pressed  her  hand  hard  upon  her  fore 
head,  drew  up  her  form  as  if  struggling  with  some 
irrepressible  feeling,  and  in  another  moment  was 
whirling  in  the  wait/,  with  Lo-.d  F.nvst  Fitznnte- 
lopc,  whose  mother  wrote  a  complimentary  para 
graph  about  their  performmuv  for  the  next  Satur 
day's  Court  Journal. 

The  bugle  soun  Jed.  and  the  band  played  a  march 
the  lawn.  From  the  breakfast  tents,  from  the 


LADY     RAVEL  GOLD.  37 

coffee-rooms,  from  the  dance,  from  the  card-tables, 
poured  all  who  wished  to  witness  the  marvels  that 
lie  in  saltpetre.  Gentlemen  who  stood  in  a  ten 
der  attitude  in  the  darkness,  held  themselves  ready 
to  lean  the  other  way  when  the  rockets  blazed  up, 
and  mammas  who  were  encouraging  flirtations  with 
cligibles,  whispered  a  caution  on  the  same  subject  to 
their  less-experienced  daughters. 

Up  sped  the  missiles,  round  spun  the  wheels,  fair 
burned  the  pagodas,  swift  flew  the  fire-doves  off  and 
back  again  on  their  wires,  and  softly  floated  down 
through  the  dewy  atmosphere  of  that  May  night 
the  lambent  and  many-coloured  stars,  flung  burning 
from  the  exploded  rockets.  Device  followed  device, 
and  Lady  Imogen  almost  forgot,  in  her  child's  de 
light  at  the  spectacle,  that  she  had  taken  into  her 
bosom  a  green  serpent,  whose  folds  were  closing 
like  suffocation  about  her  heart. 

The  finals  was  to  consist  of  a  new  light,  invented 
by  the  Pyrotechnist,  promised  to  Lady  Roseberry 
to  be  several  degrees  brighter  than  the  sun— com 
paratively  with  the  quantity  of  matter.  Before  this 
last  flourish  came  a  pause ;  and  while  all  the  world 
were  murmuring  love  and  applause  around  her, 
Lady  Imogen,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  an  indefinite 
point  in  the  darkness,  took  advantage  of  the  cessation 
of  light  to  feed  her  serpent  with  thoughts  of  passion- 
ate  and  uncontrollable  pain.  A  French  attach*, 
4 
. 


38  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

Phillipiste  to  the  very  tips  of  his  mustache,  addressed 
to  her  ear,  meantime,  the  compliments  he  had  found 
most  effective  in  the  Chaussee  UAntin. 

The  light  burst  suddenly  from  a  hundred  blazing 
points,  clear,  dazzling,  intense — illuminating,  as  by 
the  instantaneous  burst  of  day,  the  farthest  corner 
of  Rose-Eden.  And  Monsieur  Mangepoire,  with  a 
French  contempt  for  English  fire- works,  took  advan 
tage  of  the  first  ray  to  look  into  Lady  Imogen's 
eyes. 

"Mais,  Miladi!"  was  his  immediate  exclama 
tion,  after  following  their  direction  with  a  glance, 
"  ce  n'est  qu'un  tableau  vivant,  cela  !  Help,  gentle 
men  !  Elk  s'evanouit.  Some  salts  !  Misericorde  ! 
Mon  Dieu  !  Mon  Dieu  /"  And  Lady  Imogen  Ra- 
velgold  was  carried  fainting  to  Lady  Roseberry's 
chamber. 

In  a  small  opening  at  the  end  of  a  long  avenue 
of  lilachs,  extended  from  the  lawn  in  the  direction 
of  Lady  Imogen's  fixed  and  unconscious  gaze,  was 
presented,  by  the  unexpected  illumination,  the  tableau 
vivant,  seen  by  her  ladyship  and  Monsieur  Mange 
poire  at  the  same  instant — a  gentleman  drawn  up 
to  his  fullest  height,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  a  lady 
kneeling  on  the  ground  at  his  feet  with  her  arms 
stretched  up  to  his  bosom. 


l.ADYRAVELGOLD.  39 


CHAP.     IV. 

A  little  after  two  o'clock  on  the  following  Wed 
nesday,  Tremlet's  cabriolet  stopped  near  the  perron 
of  Willis's  rooms  in  King-street,  and  while  he  sent 
up  his  card  to  the  lady  patronesses  for  his  ticket  to 
that  night's  Almack's,  he  busied  himself  in  looking 
into  the  crowd  of  carriages  about  him,  and  reading 
on  the  faces  of  their  fair  occupants  the  hope  and 
anxiety  to  which  they  were  a  prey  till  John  the 
footman  brought  them  tickets  or  despair.  Drawn 
up  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  stood  a  family 
carriage  of  the  old  style,  covered  with  half  the  arms 
of  the  herald's  office,  and  containing  a  fat  dowager 
and  three  very  over-dressed  daughters.  Watching 
them,  to  see  the  effect  of  their  application,  stood 
upon  the  sidewalk  three  or  four  young  men  from  the 
neighbouring  club-house,  and  at  the  moment  Trem- 
let  was  observing  these  circumstances,  a  foreign 
britscka,  containing  a  beautiful  woman  of  a  reputa 
tion  better  understood  than  expressed  in  the  conclave 
above  stairs,  flew  round  the  corner  of  St.  James'- 
street,  and  very  nearly  drove  into  the  open  mouth 
of  the  junior  partner's  cabriolet. 

"  I  will  bet  you  a  Ukraine  colt  against  this  fine  bay 
of  yours,"  said  the  Russian  secretary  of  legation, 


40  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

advancing  from  the  group  of  dandies  to  Tremlet, 
"  that  miladi,  yonder,  with  all  the  best  blood  of  En 
gland  in  her  own  and  her  daughter's  red  faces,  gets 
no  tickets  this  morning." 

"  I'll  take  a  bet  upon  the  lady  who  has  nearly 
extinguished  me,  if  you  like,"  answered  Tremlet, 
gazing  with  admiration  at  the  calm,  delicate,  child 
like  looking  creature,  who  sat  before  him  in  the 
britscka. 

"  No !"  said  the  secretary,  "  for  Almack's  is  a 
republic  of  beauty,  and  she'll  be  voted  in  without 
either  blood  or  virtue.  Par  exemple,  Lady  Ravel- 
gold's  voucher  is  good  here,  though  she  does  study 
tableaux  in  Lothbury — eh  Tremlet  ?" 

Totally  unaware  of  the  unlucky  discovery  by  the 
fireworks  at  Lady  Roseberry's  fete,  Tremlet  colour 
ed  and  was  inclined  to  take  the  insinuation  as  an 
affront ;  but  a  laugh  from  the  dandies  drew  off  his 
companion's  attention,  and  he  observed  the  dowa 
ger's  footman  standing  at  her  coach  window  with 
his  empty  hands  held  up  in  most  expressive  negation, 
while  the  three  young  ladies  within  sat  aghast,  in  all 
the  agonies  of  disappointed  hopes.  The  lumbering 
carriage  got  into  motion — its  ineffective  blazonry 
paled  by  the  mortified  blush  of  its  occupants — and, 
as  the  junior  partner  drove  away,  philosophizing  on 
the  arbitrary  opinions  and  unprovoked  insults  of 
polite  society,  the  britscka  shot  by,  showing  him,  as 


LADYRAVELGOLD.  41 

he  leaned  forward,  a  lovely  woman  who  bent  on 
him  the  most  dangerous  eyes  in  London,  and  an 
Almack's  ticket  lying  on  the  unoccupied  cushion 
beside  her. 

The  white  relievo  upon  the  pale  blue  wall  of  Al 
mack's  showed  every  crack  in  its  stucco  flowers, 
and  the  faded  chaperons  who  had  defects  of  a  similar 
description  to  conceal,  took  warning  of  the  walls, 
and  retreated  to  the  friendlier  dimness  of  the  tea 
room.  Collinet  was  beginning  the  second  set  of 
quadrilles,  and  among  the  fairest  of  the  surpassingly 
beautiful  women  who  were  moving  to  his  heavenly 
music,  was  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold,  the  lovelier  to 
night  for  the  first  heavy  sadness  that  had  ever 
dimmed  the  roses  in  her  cheek.  Her  lady  mother 
divided  her  thoughts  between  what  this  could  mean, 
and  whether  Mr.  Tremlet  would  come  to  the  ball ; 
and  when,  presently  after,  in  the  dos-a-dos,  she  forgot 
to  look  at  her  daughter,  on  seeing  that  gentleman 
enter,  she  lost  a  very  good  opportunity  for  a  guess 
at  the  cause  of  Lady  Imogen's  paleness. 

To  the  pure  and  true  eye  that  appreciates  the 
divinity  of  the  form  after  which  woman  is  made,  it 
would  have  been  a  glorious  feast  to  have  seen  the 
perfection  of  shape,  colour,  motion  and  countenance 
shown  that  night  on  the  bright  floor  of  Almack's. 
For  the  young  and  beautiful  girls  whose  envied 


42  ROMANCE     OF     -TRAVEL. 

destiny  is  to  commence  their  woman's  history  in  this 
exclusive  hall,  there  exist  aids  to  beauty  known  to 
no  other  class  or  nation.  Perpetual  vigilance  over 
every  limb  from  the  cradle  up ;  physical  education 
of  a  perfection,  discipline  and  judgment  pursued 
only  at  great  expense  and  under  great  responsibility; 
moral  education  of  the  highest  kind,  habitual  con 
sciousness  of  rank,  exclusive  contact  with  elegance 
and  luxury,  and  a  freedom  of  intellectual  culture 
which  breathes  a  soul  through  the  face  before  pas 
sion  has  touched  it  with  a  line  or  a  shade — these 
are  some  of  the  circumstances  which  make  Almack's 
the  cynosure  of  the  world  for  adorable  and  radiant 
beauty* 

There  were  three  ladies  who  had  come  to  Al 
mack's  with  a  definite  object  that  night,  each  of 
whom  was  destined  to  be  surprised  and  foiled : 
Lady  Ravelgold,  who  feared  she  had  been  abrupt 
with  the  inexperienced  banker,  but  trusted  to  find 
him  softened  by  a  day  or  two's  reflection ;  Mrs.  St. 
Leger,  the  Lady  of  the  britscka,  who  had  ordered 
supper  for  two  on  her  arrival  at  home  from  her 
morning's  drive,  and  intended  to  have  the  company 
of  the  handsome  creature  she  had  nearly  run  over 
in  King-street ;  and  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold,  as 
will  appear  in  the  sequel. 

Tremlet  stood  in  the  entrance  from  the  tea-room 
a  moment,  gathering  courage  to  walk  alone  into  such 


LADVRAVELGOLD.  43 

a  dazzling  scene,  and  then,  having  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  glossy  lines  of  Lady  Imogen's  head  at  the 
farthest  end  of  the  room,  he  was  advancing  toward 
her,  when  he  was  addressed  by  a  lady  who  leaned 
against  one  of  the  slender  columns  of  the  orchestra. 
After  a  sweetly-phrased  apology  for  having  nearly 
knocked  out  his  brains  that  morning  with  her  horses' 
fore  feet,  Mrs.  St.  Leger  took  his  arm,  and  walking 
deliberately  two  or  three  times  up  and  down  the 
room,  took  possession,  at  last,  of  a  banquette  on  the 
highest  range,  so  far  from  any  other  person,  that  it 
would  have  been  a  marked  rudeness  to  have  left  her 
alone.  Tremlet  took  his  seat  by  her  with  this 
instinctive  feeling,  trusting  that  some  of  her  acquain 
tances  would  soon  approach,  and  give  him  a  fair 
excuse  to  leave  her ;  but  he  soon  became  amused 
with  her  piquant  style  of  conversation,  and,  not 
aware  of  being  observed,  fell  into  the  attitude  of  a 
pleased  and  earnest  listener. 

Lady  Ravelgold's  feelings  during  this  petit  entre- 
tien,  were  of  a  very  positive  description.  She  had 
an  instinctive  knowledge,  and  consequently  a  jealous 
dislike  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger's  character ;  and,  still  under 
the  delusion  that  the  young  banker's  liberality  was 
prompted  by  a  secret  passion  for  herself,  she  saw 
her  credit  in  the  city  and  her  hold  upon  the  affections 
of  Tremlet,  (for  whom  she  had  really  conceived  a 
violent  affection,)  melting  away  in  every  smile  of 
4* 


44  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

the  dangerous  woman  who  engrossed  him.  As  she 
looked  around  for  a  friend,  to  whose  ear  she  might 
communicate  some  of  the  suffocating  poison  in  her 
own  heart,  Lady  Imogen  returned  to  her  from  a 
galopade ;  and,  like  a  second  dagger  into  the  heart 
of  the  pure-minded  girl,  went  this  second  proof  of 
her  lover's  corrupt  principle  and  conduct.  Unwil 
ling  to  believe  even  her  own  eyes  on  the  night  of 
Lady  Roseberry's/efe,  she  had  summoned  resolution 
on  the  road  home  to  ask  an  explanation  of  her  mother. 
Embarrassed  by  the  abrupt  question,  Lady  Ravel- 
gold  felt  obliged  to  make  a  partial  confidence  of  the 
state  of  her  pecuniary  affairs  ;  and  to  clear  herself, 
she  represented  Tremlet  as  having  taken  advantage 
of  her  obligations  to  him,  to  push  a  dishonourable 
suit.  The  scene  disclosed  by  the  sudden  blaze  of 
the  fire- works  being  thus  simply  explained,  Lady 
Imogen  determined  at  once  to  give  up  Tremlef  s 
acquaintance  altogether ;  a  resolution  which  his 
open  flirtation  with  a  woman  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger's 
character  served  to  confirm.  She  had,  however, 
one  errand  with  him,  prompted  by  her  filial  feelings 
and  favoured  by  an  accidental  circumstance  which 
will  appear. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  animal  magnetism  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  St.  Leger,  "  for  by  the  fixedness  of  Lady  Ravel- 
gold's  eyes  in  this  quarter,  something  is  going  to 
happen  to  one  of  us." 


LADYRAVELGOLD.  45 

The  next  moment  the  Russian  secretary  approach 
ed  and  took  his  seat  by  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  and  with 
diplomatic  address  contrived  to  convey  to  Tremlet's 
ear  that  Lady  Ravelgold  wished  to  speak  with  him. 
The  banker  rose,  but  the  quick  wit  of  his  companion 
comprehended  the  manoeuvre. 

"  Ah  !  I  see  how  it  is,"  she  said,  "  but  stay — you'll 
sup  with  me  to-night  ?  Promise  me — parole  d'hon- 
neur  !" 

"  Parole  /"  answered  Tremlet,  making  his  way 
out  between  the  seats,  half  pleased  and  half  embar 
rassed. 

"  As  for  you,  Monsieur  le  Secretaire"  said  Mrs. 
St.  Leger,  "  you  have  forfeited  my  favour,  and  may 
sup  elsewhere.  How  dare  you  conspire  against 
me?" 

While  the  Russian  was  making  his  peace,  Trem 
let  crossed  over  to  Lady  Ravelgold  ;  but,  astonished 
at  the  change  in  Lady  Imogen,  he  soon  broke  in 
abruptly  upon  her  mother's  conversation,  to  ask  her 
to  dance.  She  accepted  his  hand  for  a  quadrille  ; 
but  as  they  walked  down  the  room  in  search  of  a 
vis-d-vis,  she  complained  of  heat,  and  asked  timidly 
if  he  would  take  her  to  the  tea-room. 

"  Mr.  Tremlet,"  she  said,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  the 
cup  of  tea  which  he  had  given  her,  and  which  she 
found  some  difficulty  in  holding,  "  I  have  come  here 
to-night  to  communicate  to  you  some  important 


46  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

information,  to  ask  a  favour,  and  to  break  off  an 
acquaintance  which  has  lasted  too  long." 

Lady  Imogen  stopped,  for  the  blood  had  fled 
from  her  lips,  and  she  was  compelled  to  ask  his  arm 
for  a  support.  She  drew  herself  up  to  her  fullest 
height  the  next  moment,  looked  at  Tremlet,  who 
stood  in  speechless  astonishment,  and  with  a  strong 
effort,  commenced  again  in  a  low,  firm  tone — 

"  I  have  been  acquainted  with  you  some  time,  sir, 
and  have  never  inquired,  nor  knew  more  than  your 
name,  up  to  this  day.  I  suffered  myself  to  be  pleased 
too  blindly — " 

"  Dear  Lady  Imogen  !" 

" Stay  a  moment,  sir!  I  will  proceed  directly  to 
my  business.  I  received  this  morning  a  letter  from 
the  senior  partner  of  a  mercantile  house  in  the  city, 
with  which  you  are  connected.  It  is  written  on  the 
supposition  that  I  have  some  interest  in  you,  and 
informs  me  that  you  are  not,  as  you  yourself  sup 
pose,  the  son  of  the  gentleman  who  writes  the  letter." 

"  Madam !" 

"  That  gentleman,  sir.  as  you  know,  never  was 
married.  He  informs  me  that  in  the  course  of  many 
financial  visits  to  St.  Petersburgh,  he  formed  a  friend 
ship  with  Count  Manteuffel,  then  minister  of  finance 
to  the  emperour,  whose  tragical  end,  in  consequence 
of  his  extensive  defalcations,  is  well  known.  In 
brief,  sir,  you  were  his  child,  and  were  taken  by  this 


LADYRAVELGOLD.  47 

English  banker,  and  carefully  educated  as  his  own, 
in  happy  ignorance,  as  he  imagined,  of  your  father's 
misfortunes  and  mournful  death." 

Tremlet  leaned  against  the  wall,  unable  to  reply 
to  this  astounding  intelligence,  and  Lady  Imogen 
went  on. 

"  Your  title  and  estates  have  been  restored  to  you 
at  the  request  of  your  kind  benefactor,  and  you  are 
now  the  heir  to  a  princely  fortune,  and  a  count  of 
the  Russian  empire.  Here  is  the  letter,  sir,  which 
is  of  no  value  to  me  now.  Mr.  Tremlet !  one  word 
more,  sir." 

Lady  Imogen  gasped  for  breath. 

"  In  return,  sir,  for  much  interest  given  you  here 
tofore — in  return,  sir,  for  this  information — " 

"  Speak,  dear  Lady  Imogen  !" 

"  Spare  my  mother !" 

"  Mrs.  St.  Leger's  carriage  stops  the  way !"  shout 
ed  a  servant  at  that  moment,  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  ; 
and  as  if  there  were  a  spell  in  the  sound  to  nerve 
her  resolution  anew,  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold  shook 
the  tears  from  her  eyes,  bowed  coldly  to  Tremlet, 
and  passed  out  into  the  dressing-room. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  a  servant,  approaching 
the  amazed  banker,  "  Mrs.  St.  Leger  waits  for  you 
jn  her  carriage." 


48  ROMANCE     OP     TRAVEL. 

"  Will  you  come  home  and  sup  with  us  ?"  said 
Lady  Ravelgold  at  the  same  instant,  joining  him  in 
the  tea-room. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  happy,  Lady  Ravelgold." 
The  bold  coachman  of  Mrs.  St.  Leger  continued 
to  "  stop  the  way,"  spite  of  policemen  and  infuriated 
footmen,  for  some  fifteen  minutes.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  Mr.  Tremlet  appeared,  handing  down 
Lady  Ravelgold  and  her  daughter,  who  walked  to 
their  chariot,  which  was  a  few  steps  behind  ;  and 
very  much  to  Mrs.  St.  Leger's  astonishment,  the 
handsome  banker  sprang  past  her  horses'  heads  a 
minute  after,  jumped  into  his  cabriolet,  which  stood 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  drove  after 
the  vanish;ng  chariot  as  if  his  life  depended  on  over 
taking  it.  Still  Mrs.  St.  Leger's  carriage  "  stopped 
the  way."  But,  in  a  few  minutes  after,  the  same 
footman  who  had  summoned  Tremlet  in  vain,  re 
turned  with  the  Russian  secretary,  doomed  in  blessed 
unconsciousness  to  play  the  pis  aller  at  her  tete-a- 
tete  supper  in  Spring  Gardens. 


LADY     RAVELGOLD.  40 


CHAP.   V. 

If  Lady  Ravelgold  showed  beautiful  by  the 
uncompromising  light  and  in  the  ornamented  halj 
of  Almack's,  she  was  radiant  as  she  came  through 
the  mirror  door  of  her  own  loved-contrived  and 
beauty-breathing  boudoir.  Tremlet  had  been  show 
ed  into  this  recess  of  luxury  and  elegance  on  his 
arrival,  and  Lady  Ravelgold  and  her  daughter, 
who  preceded  her  by  a  minute  or  two,  had  gone  to 
their  chambers,  the  first  to  make  some  slight  changes 
in  her  toilette,  and  the  latter  (entirely  ignorant  of  her 
lover's  presence  in  the  house,)  to  be  alone  with  a 
heart  never  before  in  such  painful  need  of  self-aban 
donment  and  solitude. 

Tremlet  looked  about  him  in  the  enchanted  room 
in  which  he  found  himself  alone,  and,  spite  of  the 
prepossessed  agitation  of  his  feelings,  the  voluptuous 
beauty  of  every  object  had  the  effect  to  divert  and 
tranquillize  him.  The  light  was  profuse,  but  it  came 
softened  through  the  thinnest  alabaster ;  and  while 
every  object  in  the  room  was  distinctly  and  minutely 
visible,  the  effect  of  moonlight  was  not  more  soft 
and  dreamy.  The  general  form  of  the  boudoir 
was  an  oval,  but  within  the  pilasters  of  folded  silk 
with  their  cornices  of  gold,  lay  crypts  containing 
5 


50  ROMANCE   OF   TRAVEL. 

copies  exquisitely  done  in  marble  of  the  most  grace 
ful  statues  of  antiquity,  one  of  which  seemed,  by 
the  curtain  drawn  quite  aside  and  a  small  antique 
lamp  burning  near  it,  to  be  the  divinity  of  the  place 
— the  Greek  Antinous,  with  his  drooped  head  and 
full,  smooth  limbs,  the  most  passionate  and  life-like 
representation  of  voluptuous  beauty  that  intoxicates 
the  slumberous  air  of  Italy.     Opposite  this,  another 
niche    contained    a    few   books,   whose    retreating 
shelves  swung  on  a  secret  door,  and  as  it  stood  half 
open,  the  nodding  head  of  a  snowy  magnolia  leaned 
through,  as  if  pouring  from  the  lips  of  its  broad 
chalice  the  mingled  odours  of  the  unseen  conserva 
tory  it  betrayed.     The  first  sketch  in  crayons  of  a 
portrait  of  Lady  Ravelgold  by  young   Lawrence, 
stood  against  the  wall,  with  the  frame  half  buried 
in  a  satin  ottoman  ;  and,  as  Tremlet  stood  before  it, 
idmiring  the  clear,  classic  outline  of  the  head  and 
bust,  and  wondering  in  what  chamber  of  his  brain 
the  gifted  artist  had  found  the  beautiful  drapery  in 
which  he  had  drawn  her,  the  dim  light  glanced 
faintly  on  the  left,  and  the  broad  mirror  by  which 
he  had  entered   swung  again  on  its  silver  hinges, 
and  admitted  the  very  presentment  of  what  he  gazed 
on.     Lady  Ravelgold  had  removed  the  jewels  from 
her  hair,  and  the  robe  of  wrought  lace,  which  she 
had  worn  that  night  over  a  boddice  of  white  satin 
laced  loosely  below  the  bosom.     In  the  place  of  this 


LADY     RAVELGOLD.  51 

she  had  thrown  upon  her  shoulders  a  flowing  wrap 
per  of  purple  velvet,  made  open  after  the  Persian 
fashion,  with  a  short  and  large  sleeve,  and  embroi 
dered  richly  with  gold  upon  the  skirts.  Her  admi 
rable  figure,  gracefully  defined  by  the  satin  petticoat 
and  boddice,  showed  against  the  gorgeous  purple 
as  it  flowed  back  in  her  advancing  motion,  with  a 
relief  which  would  have  waked  the  very  soul  of 
Titian ;  her  complexion  was  dazzling  and  faultless 
in  the  flattering  light  of  her  own  rooms  ;  and  there 
are  those  who  will  read  this  who  know  how  the 
circumstances  which  surround  a  woman — luxury, 
elegance,  taste,  or  the  opposite  of  these — enhance 
or  dim,  beyond  help  or  calculation,  even  the  highest 
order  of  woman's  beauty. 

Lady  Ravelgold  held  a  bracelet  in  her  hand  as 
she  came  in.  .  - 

"  In  my  own  house,"  she  said,  holding  the  glitter 
ing  jewel  to  Tremlet,  "  I  have  a  fancy  for  the  style 
antique.  Tasseline,  my  maid,  has  gone  to  bed,  and 
you  must  do  the  devoir  of  a  knight,  or  an  abigail, 
and  loop  up  this  Tyrian  sleeve.  Stay — look  first 
at  the  model — that  small  statue  of  Cytheris,  yonder ! 
Not  the  shoulder — for  you  are  to  swear  mine  is  pret 
tier — but  the  clasp.  Fasten  it  like  that.  So!  Now 
take  me  for  a  Grecian  nymph  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

"  Lady  Ravelgold !" 


52  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"  Hermione  or  Aglae,  if  you  please  !  But  let  us 
ring  for  supper !" 

As  the  bell  sounded,  a  superb  South  American 
trulian  darted  in  from  the  conservatory,  and,  spread 
ing  his  gorgeous  black  and  gold  wings  a  moment 
over  the  alabaster  shoulder  of  Lady  Ravelgold,  as  if 
he  took  a  pleasure  in  prolonging  the  first  touch  as 
he  alighted,  turned  his  large  liquid  eye  fiercely  on 
Tremlet. 

"  Thus  it  is,"  said  Lady  Ravelgold,  "  we  forget 
our  old  favourites  in  our  new.  See  how  jealous  he 
is!" 

"  Supper  is  served,  miladi !"  said  a  servant  enter 
ing. 

"  A  hand  to  each,  then,  for  the  present,"  she  said, 
putting  one  into  Tremlet's,  and  holding  up  the  trulian 
with  the  other.  "  He  who  behaves  best  shall  drink 
first  with  me." 

"  I  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon,"  said  Tremlet, 
drawing  back,  and  looking  at  the  servant,  who 
immediately  left  the  room.  "Let  us  understand 
each  other!  Does  Lady  Imogen  sup  with  us  to 
night?" 

"  Lady  Imogen  has  retired,"  said  her  mother,  in 
some  surprise. 

"  Then,  madam,  will  you  be  seated  one  moment 
and  listen  to  me  ?" 


I 
LADY     RAVELGOLD.  53 


Lady  Ravelgold  sat  down  on  the  nearest  ottoman, 
with  the  air  of  a  person  too  high  bred  to  be  taken 
by  surprise,  but  the  colour  deepened  to  crimson  in 
the  centre  of  her  cheek,  and  the  bird  on  her  hand 
betrayed  by  one  of  his  gurgling  notes  that  he  was 
held  more  tightly  than  pleased  him.  With  a  calm 
and  decisive  tone,  Tremlet  went  through  the  explan 
ation  given  in  the  previous  parts  of  this  narration. 
He  declared  his  love  for  Lady  Imogen,  his  hopes 
(while  he  had  doubts  of  his  birth)  that  Lady  Ravel- 
gold's  increasing  obligations  and  embarrassments 
and  his  own  wealth  might  weigh  against  his  disad 
vantages,  and  now,  his  honourable  descent  being 
established,  and  his  rank  entitling  him  to  propose 
for  her  hand,  he  called  upon  Lady  Ravelgold  to 
redeem  her  obligations  to  him  by  an  immediate 
explanation  to  her  daughter  of  his  conduct  toward 
herself,  and  by  lending  her  whole  influence  to  the 
success  of  his  suit. 

Five  minutes  are  brief  time  to  change  a  lover 
into  a  son-in-law ;  and  Lady  Ravelgold,  as  we  have 
seen  in  the  course  of  this  story,  was  no  philosopher. 
She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sat  silent  for 
awhile  after  Tremlet  had  concluded ;  but  the  case 
was  a  very  clear  one.  Ruin  and  mortification  were 
in  one  scale,  mortification  and  prosperity  in  the 
other.  She  rose,  pale  but  decided,  and  requesting 


5* 


54  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

Monsieur  le  Conte  Manteuffel  to  await  her  a  few 
minutes,  ascended  to  her  daughter's  chamber. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  a  servant,  entering  in 
about  half  an  hour,  "miladi  and  Lady  Imogen  beg 
that  you  will  join  them  in  the  supper-room." 


CHAP.   VI. 

The  spirit  of  beauty,  if  it  haunt  in  such  artificial 
atmospheres  as  Belgrave-square,  might  have  been 
pleased  to  sit  invisibly  on  the  vacant  side  of  Lady 
Ravelgold's  table.  Tremlet  had  been  shown  in  by 
the  servant  to  a  small  apartment,  built  like  a  belvi- 
dere  over  the  garden,  half  boudoir  in  its  character, 
yet  intended  as  a  supper-room,  and  at  the  long  win 
dow  (opening  forth  upon  descending  terraces  laden 
with  flowers  and  just  now  flooded  with  the  light  of 
a  glorious  moon)  stood  Lady  Imogen,  with  her 
glossy  head  laid  against  the  casement,  and  the  palm 
of  her  left  hand  pressed  close  upon  her  heart  If 
those  two  lights — the  moon  faintly  shed  off  from 
the  divine  curve  of  her  temple,  and  the  stained  rose- 
lamp  pouring  its  mellow  tint  full  on  the  heavenly 
shape  and  whiteness  of  her  shoulder  and  neck — if 
those  two  lights,  I  say,  could  have  been  skilfully 


LADY    RAVELGOLD.  55 

managed,  Mr.  Lawrence !  what  a  picture  you 
might  have  made  of  Lady  Imogen  Ravelgold  ! 

"  Imogen,  my  daughter !  Mr.  Tremlet !"  said  her 
mother  as  he  entered. 

Without  changing  her  position,  she  gave  him  the 
hand  she  had  been  pressing  on  her  heart. 

"  Mr.  Tremlet !"  said  Lady  Ravelgold,  evidently 
entering  into  her  daughter's  embarrassment,  "  trou 
ble  yourself  to  come  to  the  table  and  give  me  a  bit 
of  this  pheasant.  Imogen,  George  waits  to  give 
you  some  champagne." 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  ?"  said  the  beautiful  girl, 
before  turning  to  betray  her  blushing  cheek  and 
suffused  eyes  to  her  mother. 

Tremlet  stopped  as  if  to  pluck  a  leaf  from  the 
verbena  at  her  feet,  and  passed  his  lips  over  the 
slight  fingers  he  held. 

"  Pretty  trulian  !"  murmured  Lady  Ravelgold,  to 
her  bird,  as  he  stood  on  the  edge  of  her  champagne 
glass,  and  curving  his  superb  neck  nearly  double, 
contrived  to  drink  from  the  sparkling  brim,  "  pretty 
trulian !  you  will  be  merry  after  this  !  What  an 
cient  Sybarite,  think  you,  Mr.  Tremlet,  inhabits  the 
body  of  this  bright  bird  ?  Look  up,  mignon,  and 
tell  us  if  you  were  Hylas  or  Alcibiades !  Is  the 
pheasant  good,  Mr.  Tremlet  ?" 

"  Too  good  to  come  from  Hades,  miladi.  Is  it  true 
that  you  have  your  table  supplied  fromCrockford's  ?" 


56  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"  Tout  bonnement !  I  make  it  a  principle  to  avoid 
all  great  anxieties,  and  I  can  trust  nobody  but 
Ude.  He  sends  my  dinners  quite  hot,  and  if  there 
is  a  particular  dish  of  game,  he  drives  round  at  the 
hour  and  gives  it  the  last  turn  in  my  own  kitchen. 
I  should  die  to  be  responsible  for  my  dinners.  I 
don't  know  how  people  get  on  that  have  no  grand 
artiste.  Pray,  Mr.  Tremlet,  (I  beg  pardon — Mon 
sieur  le  Conte,  perhaps  I  should  say  ?") 

"  No,  no,  I  implore  you !  *  Tremlet'  has  been 
spoken  too  musically  to  be  so  soon  forgotten.  Trem 
let  or  Charles,  which  you  will !" 

Lady  Ravelgold  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  looked 
from  his  face  to  her  daughter's  wit'i  a  smile,  which 
assured  him  that  she  had  obtained  a  victory  over 
herself.  Shrinking  immediately,  however,  from 
anything  like  sentiment,  (with  the  nervous  dread  of 
pathos  so  peculiar  to  the  English,)  she  threw  off  her 
trulian,  that  made  a  circle  and  alighted  on  the  eme 
rald  bracelet  of  Lady  Imogen,  and  rang  the  bell  for 
coffee. 

"  I  flatter  myself,  Mr.  Tremlet,"  she  said,  "  that  I 
have  made  a  new  application  of  the  homoeopathic 
philosophy.  Hahnemann,  they  say,  cures  fevers  by 
aggravating  the  disease ;  and  when  I  cannot  sleep> 
I  drink  coffee.  J'en  suis  passablement  fiere !  You 
did  not  know  I  was  a  philosopher  V 

"No,  indeed!" 


L  A  D  Y     R  A  V  E  T,  G  O  L  D  .  57 

"  Well,  take  some  of  this  spiced  mocha.  I  got  it 
of  the  Turkish  ambassador,  to  whom  I  made  beaux 
yeux  on  purpose.  Stop !  you  shall  have  it  in  the 
little  tinsel  cups  he  sent  me.  George,  bring  those 
filagree  things  !  Now,  Mr.  Tremlet,  imagine  your 
self  in  the  serail  du  Bosphore — Imogen  and  I,  two 
lovely  Circassians,  par  exemple  !  Is  it  not  delicious  ? 
Talking  of  the  Bosphorus,  nobody  was  classical 
enough  to  understand  the  device  in  my  coiffure  to 
night." 

"  What  was  it  ?"  asked  Tremlet  absently,  gazing 
while  he  spoke,  with  eyes  of  envy  at  the  trulian, 
who  was  whetting  his  bill  backward  and  forward 
on  the  clear  bright  lips  of  Lady  Imogen. 

"  Do  you  think  my  profile  Grecian  ?"  asked  Lady 
Ravelgold. 

"  Perfectly !" 

"  And  my  hair  is  coifed  a  la  Grec" 

"  Most  becomingly." 

"  But  still  you  won't  see  my  golden  grasshopper  ! 
Do  you  happen  to  know,  sir,  that  to  wear  the  golden 
grasshopper  was  the  birthright  of  an  Athenian  ?  I 
saw  it  in  a  book.  Well !  I  had  to  explain  it  to 
everybody.  By  the  way,  what  did  that  gambler, 
George  Heriot,  mean  by  telling  me  that  its  legs 
should  be  black.  '  All  Greeks  have  black  legs,'  said 
he,  yawning  in  his  stupid  way.  What  did  he  mean, 
Mr.  Tremlet?" 


58  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

-  *  Greeks'  and  blacklegs  are  convertible  terms. 
He  thought  you  were  more  aufait  of  the  slang  dic 
tionary.  Will  you  permit  me  to  coax  my  beautiful 
rival  from  your  hand,  Lady  Imogen  ?" 

She  smiled,  and  put  forward  her  wrist,  with  a 
bend  of  its  slender  and  alabaster  lines  which  would 
have  drawn  a  sigh  from  Praxiteles.  The  trulian 
glanced  his  fiery  eyes  from  his  mistress's  face  to 
Tremlet's,  and  as  the  strange  hand  was  put  out  to 
take  him  from  his  emerald  perch,  he  flew  with  the 
quickness  of  lightning  into  the  face  of  her  lover,  and 
buried  the  sharp  beak  in  his  lip.  The  blood  follow 
ed  copiously,  and  Lady  Imogen,  startled  from  her 
timidity,  sprang  from  her  chair  and  pressed  her 
hands  one  after  the  other  upon  the  wound,  in  pas 
sionate  and  girlish  abandonment.  Lady  Ravelgold 
hurried  to  her  dressing-room  for  something  to 
staunch  the  wound,  and,  left  alone  with  the  divine 
creature,  who  hung  over  him,  Tremlet  drew  her  to 
his  bosom  and  pressed  his  cheek  long  and  closely  to 
hers,  while  to  his  lips,  as  if  to  keep  in  life,  clung  her 
own  crimsoned  and  trembling  fingers. 

"  Imogen  !"  said  Lady  Ravelgold,  entering,  "  take 
him  to  the  fountain  in  the  garden  and  wash  the 
wound ;  then  put  on  this  bit  of  gold-beater's  skin. 
I  will  come  to  you  when  I  have  locked  up  the  tru 
lian.  Is  it  painful,  Mr..  Tremlet  ?" 


LADYRAVELGOLD.  59 

Tremlet  could  not  trust  his  voice  to  answer,  but 
with  his  arm  still  around  Lady  Imogen,  he  descend 
ed  by  the  terrace  of  flowers  to  the  fountain. 

They  sat  upon  the  edge  of  the  marble  basin,  and 
the  moonlight  striking  through  the  jet  of  the  foun 
tain,  descended  upon  them  like  a  rain  of  silver. 
Lady  Imogen  had  recovered  from  her  fright  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  remembering  into  what 
her  feelings  had  betrayed  her  ;  and  Tremlet,  some 
times  listening  to  the  clear  bell-like  music  of  the 
descending  water,  sometimes  uttering  the  broken 
sentences  which  are  most  eloquent  in  love,  sat  out 
the  hours  till  the  stars  began  to  pale,  undisturbed 
by  Lady  Ravelgold,  who,  on  the  upper  stair  of  the 
terrace,  read  by  a  small  lamp,  which,  in  the  calm  of 
that  heavenly  summer  night,  burned  unflickeringly 
in  the  open  air. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  Tremlet,  on  foot, 
sauntered  slowly  past  Hyde  Park  corner  on  his  way 
to  the  Albany.  The  lamps  were  still  struggling 
with  the  brightening  approach  to  sunrise,  the  cab 
men  and  their  horses  slept  on  the  stand  by  the  Green 
Park,  and  with  cheerful  faces  the  labourers  went 
to  their  work,  and  with  haggard  faces  the  night- 
birds  of  dissipation  crept  wearily  home.  The  well- 
ground  dust  lay  in  confused  heel-marks  on  the  side 
walk,  a  little  dampened  by  the  night-dew;  the 


60  ROMANCE     OP     TRAVEL. 

atmosphere  in  the  street  was  clear,  as  it  never  is 
after  the  stir  of  day  commences  ;  a  dandy,  stealing 
out  from  Crockford's,  crossed  Piccadilly,  lifting  up 
his  head  to  draw  in  long  breaths  of  the  cool  air. 
after  the  closeness  of  over-lighted  rooms  and  excite 
ment  ;  and  Tremlet,  marking  none  of  these  things, 
was  making  his  way  through  a  line  of  carriages 
slowly  drawing  up  to  take  off  their  wearied  master? 
from  a  prolonged  fete  at  Devonshire-house,  when  a 
rude  hand  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Monsieur  Tremlet !" 

"  Ah,  Baron  !  bien  bon  jour  /" 

"Bien  rencontre,  Monsieur !  You  have  insulted 
a  lady  to-night,  who  has  confided  her  cause  to  my 
hands.  Madam  St.  Leger,  sir,  is  without  a  natural 
protector,  and  you  have  taken  advantage  of  her 
position  to  insult  her — giossly,Mr.  Tremlet !  grossly !" 

Tremlet  looked  at  the  Russian  during  this  extraor 
dinary  address,  and  saw  that  he  was  evidently  highly 
excited  with  wine.  He  drew  him  aside  into  Berke 
ley-street,  and  in  the  calmest  manner  attempted  to 
explain  what  was  not  very  clear  to  himself.  He  had 
totally  forgotten  Mrs.  St.  Leger.  The  'diplomate. 
though  quite  beyond  himself  with  his  excitement 
had  sufficient  perception  left  to  see  the  weak  point 
of  his  statement,  and  infuriated  with  the  placid  man 
ner  in  which  he  attempted  to  excuse  himself,  sud 
denly  struck  his  glove  into  his  face,  and  turned  upon 


LADYRAVELGOLD.  61 

his  heel.  They  had  been  observed  by  a  policeman, 
and  at  the  moment  that  Tremlet,  recovering  from 
his  astonishment,  sprang  forward  to  resent  the  blow, 
the  gray-coated  guardian  of  the  place  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  collar  and  detained  him  till  the  baron  had 
disappeared. 

More  than  once  on  his  way  to  the  Albany,  Trem 
let  surprised  himself  forgetting  both  the  baron  and 
the  insult,  and  feeding  his  heart  in  delicious  aban 
donment  with  the  dreams  of  his  new  happiness. 
He  reached  his  rooms  and  threw  himself  on  t}ie  bed, 
forcing  from  his  mind,  with  a  strong  effort,  the  pre 
sence  of  Lady  Imogen,  and  trying  to  look  calmly 
on  the  unpleasant  circumstance   before  him.      A 
quarrel  which,  the  day  before,  he  would  have  looked 
upon  merely  as  an  inconvenience,  or  which,  under 
the  insult  of  a  blow,  he  would  have  eagerly  sought, 
became  now  an  almost  insupportable  evil.     When 
he  reflected  on  the  subject  of  the  dispute — a  conten 
tion  about  a  woman  of  doubtful  reputation  taking 
place  in  the  same  hour  with  a  first  avowal  from  the 
delicate  and  pure  Lady  Imogen — when  he  remem 
bered  the  change  in  his  fortunes,  which  he  had  as 
yet  scarcely  found  time  to  realize — on  the  consequen 
ces  to  her  who  was  so  newly  dear  to  him,  and  all  on 
he  might  lose,  now  that  life  had  become  invaluable* 
his  thoughts  were  almost  too  painful  to  bear.     How 
seldom  do  men  play  with  an  equal  stake  in  the  game 
6 


ROMANCE     OP     TRAVEL. 

of  taking  life,  and  how  strange  it  is  that  equality  of 
weapons  is  the  only  comparison  made  necessary  by 
the  laws  of  honour  ! 

Tremlet  was  not  a  man  to  be  long  undecided.  He 
rose  after  an  hour's  reflection  and  wrote  as  follows : 

"  BARON — Before  taking  the  usual  notice  of  the  occur 
rence  of  this  morning,  I  wish  to  rectify  one  or  two  points  in 
which  our  position  is  false.  I  find  myself,  since  last  night, 
the  accepted  lover  of  Lady  Imogen  RaVelgold,  and  the  mas 
ter  of  estates  and  title  as  a  count  of  the  Russian  empire. 
Under  the  etourdissement  of  such  sudden  changes  in  feelings 
and  fortune,  perhaps  my  forgetfulness  of  the  lady  in  whose 
cause  you  are  so  interested,  admits  of  indulgence.  At  any 
rate,  I  am  'so  newly  in  love  with  life  that  I  am  willing  to 
suppose  for  an  hour  that  had  you  known  these  circumstan 
ces  you  would  have  taken  a  different  view  of  the  offence  in 
question.  I  shall  remain  at  home  till  two,  and  it  is  in  your 
power  till  then  to  make  me  the  reparation  necessary  to  my 
honour.  Yours,  etc.  TREMLET." 

There  was  a  bridal  on  the  following  Monday  at 
1  £>t.  George's  Church,  and  the  Russian  secretary  stood 
behind  the  bridegroom.  Lady  Ravelgold  had  never 
been  seen  so  pale,  but  her  face  was  clear  of  all 
painful  feeling ;  and  it  was  observed  by  one  who 
knew  her  well,  that  her  beauty  had  acquired,  during 
the  brief  engagement  of  her  daughter,  a  singular 
and  undefinable  elevation.  As  the  carriages  with 
their  white  favours  turned  into  Bond-street,  pn  their 
way  back  toBelgrave-square.the  cortege  was  check- 


LADYRAVELGOLD.  63 

ed  by  the  press  of  vehicles,  and  the  Russian,  who 
accompanied  Lady  Ravelgold  in  her  chariot,  found 
himself  opposite  the  open  britscka  of  a  lady  who 
fixed  her  glass  full  upon  him  without  recognising  a 
feature  of  his  face. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  affronted  Mrs.  St.  Leger, 
baron !"  said  Lady  Ravelgold. 

"Or  I  should  not  have  been  here !"  said  the  Rus 
sian  ;  and  as  they  drove  up  Piccadilly,  he  had  just 
time  between  Bond-street  and  Milton  Crescent  to 
tell  her  ladyship  the  foregone  chapter  of  this  story. 

The  trulian,  on  that  day,  was  fed  with  wedding- 
cake,  and  the  wound  on  Mr.  Tremlet's  lip  was  not 
cured  by  letting  alone. 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL- 


PALETTO'S   BRIDE. 


CHAP.   I. 

"  As  a  fish  will  sometimes  gather  force,  and,  with  a  long 
ing,  perhaps,  for  the  brightness  of  upper  air,  leap  from  its- 
prescribed  element,  and  glitter  a  moment  among  the  birds, 
so  will  there  be  found  men  whose  souls  revolt  against 
destiny,  and  make  a  fiery  pluck  at  things  above  them.  But, 
like  the  fish,  who  drops,  panting,  with  dry  scales,  backward, 
the  aspiring  man  oftenest  regrets  the  native  element  he  has 
left;  and,  with  the  failure  of  his  unnatural  effort,  drops 
back,  content,  to  obscurity." — Jeremy  Taylor. 

"My  daughter !"  said  the  Count  Spinola. 

The  lady  so  addressed  threw  off  a  slight  mantle 
and  turned  her  fair  features  inquiringly  to  her  father. 
Heedless  of  the  attention  he  had  arrested,  the  ab 
stracted  count  paced  up  and  down  the  marble  pave- 


68  ROMANCE     OF    TRAVEL. 

ment  of  his  hall,  and  when,  a  moment  after,  Fran- 
cesca  came  to  him  for  his  good-night  kiss,  he  imprinted 
it  silently  on  her  forehead,  and  stepped  out  on  the 
balcony  to  pursue,  under  the  aiding  light  of  the  stars, 
thoughts  that  were  more  imperative  than  sleep. 

There  had  been  a  fete  of  great  splendour  in  the 
ducal  gardens  of  the  Boboli,  and  Francesca  Spinola 
had  shown  there,  as  usual,  the  most  radiant  and 
worshipped  daughter  of  the  ndbilita  of  Florence. 
The  melancholy  duke  himself  (this  was  in  the  days 
of  his  first  marriage)  had  seemed  even  gay  in  pre 
senting  her  with  flowers  which  he  had  gathered  at 
her  side,  with  the  dew  on  them,  (in  an  alley  glittering 
with  the  diamonds  on  noble  bosoms,  and  dewdrops 
on  roses  that  would  slumber,  though  it  was  the  birth- 
night  of  a  princess,)  and  marked  as  was  the  royal 
attention  to  the  envied  beauty,  it  was  more  easily 
forgiven  her  than  her  usual  triumphs — for  it  cost  no 
one  a  lover.  True  to  his  conjugal  vows,  the  sad- 
featured  monarch  paid  to  beauty  only  the  homage 
exacted  alike  by  every  most  admirable  work  of 
nature. 

The  Grand  Duke  Leopold  had  not  been  the  only 
admirer  whose  attentions  to  Francesca  Spinola  had 
been  remarked.  A  stranger,  dressed  with  a  mag 
nificence  that  seemed  more  fitted  for  a  masquerade 
than  a  court-ball,  and  yet  of  a  mein  that  promised 


PAL ETTOS     BRIDE.  69 

danger  to  the  too  inquisitive,  had  entered  alone,  and, 
marking  out  the  daughter  of  the  haughty  count  from 
the  first,  had  procured  an  introduction,  no  one  knew 
how,  and  sought  every  opportunity  which  the  inter" 
vals  of  the  dance  afforded,  to  place  himself  at  her 
side.  Occupied  with  the  courtly  devoirs  of  his 
rank,  the  count  was,  for  a  while,  unaware  of  what 
struck  almost  every  one  else,  and  it  was  only  when 
the  stranger's  name  was  inquired  of  him  by  the 
duke,  that  his  dark  and  jealous  eye  fell  upon  a  face 
whose  language  of  kindling  and  undisguised  admi 
ration  a  child  would  have  interpreted  aright.  It 
was  one  of  those  faces  that  are  of  no  degree — that 
may  belong  to  a  barbaric  king,  or  to  a  Greek  slave 
— that  no  refinement  would  improve,  and  no  servile 
habits  degrade ;  faces  which  take  their  changes  from 
an  indomitable  and  powerful  soul,  and  are  beyond 
the  trifling  impression  of  the  common  usages  of  life. 
Spinola  was  offended  with  the  daring  and  passionate 
freedom  of  the  stranger's  gaze  upon  his  daughter  ; 
but  he  hesitated  to  interrupt  their  conversation  too 
rudely.  He  stayed  to  exchange  a  compliment  with 
some  fair  obstruction  in  his  way  across  the  crowded 
saloon,  and,  in  the  next  moment,  Francesca  stood 
alone. 

"  Who  left  you  this  moment,  my  Francesca  ?"  ask 
ed  the  count,  with  affected  unconcern. 


TO  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL* 

"  I  think,  a  Venetian,"  she  answered. 

"And,  his  name?" 

"  I  know  not,  my  father  P 

The  count's  face  flashed. 

"Who  presented  him  to  my  darling?"  he  asked, 
again  forcing  himself  to  composure. 

Francesca  coloured ;  and,  with  downcast  eyes, 
answered — 

"  No  one,  my  father !  He  seemed  to  know  me, 
and  I  thought  I  might  have  forgotten  him. 

Spinola  turned  on  his  heel,  and  after  a  few  vain 
enquiries,  and  as  vain  a  search  for  the  stranger, 
ordered  his  attendants,  and  drove  silently  home. 

It  was  close  upon  the  gray  of  the  morning,  and 
the  count  still  leaned  over  the  stone-railing  of  his 
balcony.  Francesca  had  been  gone  an  hour  to  her 
chamber.  A  guitar-string  sounded  from  the  street 
below,  and,  a  moment  after,  a  manly  and  mellow 
voice  broke  into  a  Venetian  barcarole,  and  sang  with 
a  skill  and  tenderness  which  a  vestal  could  scarce 
have  listened  to  unmoved.  Spinola  stepped  back 
and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword  ;  but,  changing 
his  thought,  he  took  a  lamp  from  the  wall  within, 
and  crept  noiselessly  to  his  daughter's  chamber. 
She  lay  within  her  silken  curtains,  with  her  hands 
crossed  on  her  bosom,  and  from  her  parted  lips 
came  the  low  breath  of  innocent  and  untroubled 
sleep.  Reassured,  the  count  closed  her  window  airf 


P  ALETTO'S     B  RIDE.  71 

extinguished  his  lamp;  and,  when  the  guitar  was 
no  longer  heard  echoing  from  the  old  palace  walls, 
and  the  rich  voice  of  the  serenader  had  died  away 
with  his  footsteps,  the  lord  of  the  Palazzo  Spinola 
betook  himself  to  sleep  with  a  heart  somewhat 
relieved  of  its  burden. 

On  the  following  day,  the  count  pleaded  the  early- 
coming  heats  of  summer ;  and,  with  slight  prepara 
tion,  left  Florence  for  his  summer-palace  in  the 
Appenines.  When  Francesca  joined  him  cheer 
fully,  and  even  gaily,  in  his  sudden  plan,  he  threw 
aside  the  jealous  fears  that  had  haunted  his  breast, 
and  forgot  the  stranger  and  his  barcarole.  The  old 
trees  of  his  maison  de  plaisance  were  heavy  with 
the  leaves  of  the  Italian  May ;  the  statues  stood 
cool  in  the  shade  ;  the  mountain  rivulets  forgot  their 
birth  in  the  rocky  brooks,  and  ran  over  channels  of 
marble,  and  played  up  through  cactus-leaves  and 
sea-shells,  and  nereids'  horns,  all  carved  by  the  con 
temporaries  of  Donatello.  "  And  here,"  thought  the 
proud  noble,  "  I  arn  a  Vecart  of  the  designs  of  ad 
venturers,  and  the  temptations  and  dangers  of  gaiety, 
and  the  child  of  my  hopes  will  refresh  her  beauty  and 
her  innocence,  under  the  watchful  eye,  ever  present, 
of  my  love." 

Francesca  Spinola  was  one  of  those  Italian  natures 
of  which  it  is  difficult  for  the  inhabitants  of  other 
climes  to  conceive.  She  had  no  feelings.  She  had 


72  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

passions.  She  couki  love — but  it  sprang  in  an  in 
stant  to  its  fullest  power — and  maidenly  reserve 
and  hesitation  were  incompatible  with  its  existence. 
She  had  listened,  unmoved,  to  all  the  adulation  of 
the  duke's  court,  and-  had  been  amused  with  the 
devotion  of  all  around  her — but  never  touched.  The 
voice  of  the  stranger  at  the  fete  of  the  Boboli — the 
daring  words  he  had  addressed  to  her — had  arrested 
her  attention ;  and  it  needed  scarce  the  hour — which 
flew  like  a.  moment  at  his  side — to  send  a  new  sen 
sation,  like  a  tempest,  through  her  heart.  She 
reasoned  upon  nothing — asked  nothing ;  but,  while 
she  gave  up  her  soul  wholly  to  a  passion  hitherto 
unfelt,  the  deep  dissimulation  which  seems  a  natural 
part  of  the  love  of  that  burning  clime,  prompted 
her,  by  an  unquestioned  impulse,  to  conceal  it  en 
tirely  from  her  father.  She  had  counterfeited  sleep 
when  nearly  surprised  in  listening  to  the  barcarole, 
and  she  had  little  need  to  counterfeit  joy  at  her  depar 
ture  for  the  mountains. 

The  long  valley  of  the  Arno  lay  marked  out  upon 
the  landscape  by  a  wreath  of  vapour,  stealing  up  as 
if  enamoured  of  the  fading  colour  of  the  clouds : 
and  far  away,  like  a  silver  bar  on  the  rim  of  the 
horizon,  shone  the  long  line  of  the  Mediterranean. 
The  mountain  sides  lay  bathed  in  azure  ;  and,  echo 
ing  from  the  nearest,  came  the  vesper-bells  of  Val- 


PALETTO'S     BRIDE.  73 

lombrosa.     Peace  and  purity  were  stamped  upon 

the  hour. 

"My  child,"  said  the  softened  count,  drawing 

Francesca  to  his  bosom,  as  they  stood  looking  off 

upon  this  scene  from  the  flowery  terrace  beneath  the 

portico  ;  "  does  my  child  love  me  ?" 

Francesca  placed  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders  and 

kissed  him  for  reply. 

"  I  feel  impelled,"  he  continued,  "  to  talk  to  you 

while  this  beautiful  hour  is  around  us,  of  an  affection 

that  resembles  it." 

"  Resembles  the  sunset,  my  father  ?" 
4;  Yes  !     Shall  I  tell  you  how  ?     By  affecting  with 
its  soft  influence  every  object  under  the  bend  of  the 
sky  !     My  Francesca  !  there  are  parents  who  love 
their  children,  and  love  them  well,  and  yet  find  feel 
ings  for  other  attachments,  and  devotion  for  every 
other  interest  in  life.     Not  so  mine  !     My  love  for 
my  child  is  a  whole  existence  poured  into  hers. 
Look  at  me,  Francesca  !     I  am  not  old.     I  am  capa 
ble,  perhaps,  of  other  love  than  a  parent's.     There 
are  among  the  young  and  beautiful  who  have  looked 
on  me  with  favouring  eyes.     My  blood  runs  warm 
yet,  and  my  step  is  as  full  of  manhood — perhaps  my 
heart  as  prompt  to  be  gay — as  ever.     I  mean  to 
say,  that  I  am  not  too  old  for  a  lover.     Does  my 
daughter  think  so  ?" 


74  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL, 

« I  have  been  long  vain  of  your  beauty,  dear 
father,"  said  Francesca,  threading  her  hand  in  his 
dark  curls. 

«  There  are  other  things  that  might  share  your 
empire  in  my  heart— politics,  play,  the  arts— a  hun 
dred  passions  which  possess  themselves  of  men 
whose  fortune  or  position  gives  them  means  and 
leisure.  Now  listen,  my  daughter!  You  have 
supplanted  all  these !  You  have  filled  my  heart 
with  yourself.  I  am  tempted  to  love— my  heart  is 
my  daughter's.  I  am  asked  to  play— my  thoughts 
are  with  my  child.  I  have  neither  time  for  politics, 
nor  attention  for  the  arts  —  my  being  breathes 
through  my  child.  I  am  incapable  of  all  else.  Do 
you  hear  me,  Francesca?" 
«  I  do,  dear  father  !" 

«  Then,  one  moment  more !  I  cannot  conceal  my 
thoughts  from  you,  and  you  will  pardon  love  like 
mine  for  ungrounded  fears.  I  liked  not  the  stranger 
at  the  duke's  palace." 

Francesca  stole  a  quick  look  at  her  father,  and. 
with  the  rapidity  of  light,  her  dark  eye  resumed  its 
tranquillity. 

"  I  say  I  liked  him  not !  No  one  knew  him  !  He 
is  gone,  no  one  knows  whither !  I  trust  he  will 
never  be  seen  more  in  Florence.  But  I  will  not 
disguise  from  you  that  I  thought  you — pleased  with 
him !" 


PALETTO'S     BRIDE.  75 

«*  Father !" 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  wrong  you — but,  without  pur 
suing  the  subject,  let  your  father  implore  you,  on  his 
knees,  for  the  confidence  of  your  heart.  Will  you 
tell  me  your  thoughts,  Franoesca  ?  Will  you  love 
me  with  but  the  thousandth  part  of  my  adoration, 
my  devotion,  for  my  child  ?" 

"  Father !  I  will !" 

The  count  rose  from  the  knee  on  which  he  had 
fallen,  gave  his  daughter  a  long  embrace,  and  led 
her  in.  And  that  night  she  fled  over  the  Tuscan 
border,  into  neighbouring  Romagna,  and,  with  the 
stranger  at  her  side,  sped  away,  under  the  cover  of 
night,  toward  the  shores  of  the  Brenta. 

Like  a  city  of  secrets,  sleeps  silent  Venice.  Her 
sea- washed  foundations  are  buried  under  the  smooth 
glass  of  the  tide.  Her  palace-entrances  are  dark 
caverns,  impenetrable  to  the  eye.  Her  veiled  dames 
are  unseen  in  their  floating  chambers,  as  they  go 
from  street  to  street ;  and  mysteriously  and  silently 
glide  to  and  fro  those  swift  gondolas,  black  as  night, 
yet  carrying  sadness  and  mirth,  innocence  and  guilt, 
alike  swiftly,  mysteriously,  and  silently.  Water, 
that  betrays  no  footstep,  and  covers  all  with  the; 
same  mantle  of  light,  fills  her  streets.  Silence,  that 
is  the  seal  of  secresy,  reigns  day  nnd  night  over  her 
thousand  palaces. 


76  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

For  an  hour  the  smooth  mirror  of  the  broad  canal 
that  sweeps  under  the  Rialto,  had  not  been  divided 
by  the  steel  prow  of  a  gondola.  Francesca  Spinola 
stood  at  the  window  of  a  chamber  in  a  palace  of 
gorgeous  magnificence,  watching  that  still  water 
for  the  coming  of  her  husband.  The  silver  lines  of 
the  moon  stole  back  imperceptibly,  as  her  full  orb 
sailed  up  the  heavens,  and  the  turrets  of  the  old 
architecture  of  Venice,  drawn  clearly  on  the  unruf 
fled  bosom  of  the  canal,  seemed  retiring  before  a 
consuming  sheet  of  silver.  The  silence  seemed 
painful.  To  the  ear  of  the  beautiful  Florentine,  the 
want  of  the  sound  of  a  footstep,  of  the  echo  of  some 
distant  wheel,  the  utter  death  of  all  sound  common 
to  even  the  stillest  hour  of  a  paved  city,  seemed 
oppressive  and  awful.  Behind  her  burned  lamps  of 
alabaster,  and  perfumes  filled  the  chamber,  and  on 
a  cushion  of  costly  velvet  lay  a  mean  and  unorna- 
mented  guitar.  Its  presence  in  so  costly  a  palace 
was  a  secret  yet  withheld.  She  wished  to  touch 
its  strings,  if  only  to  disperse  the  horror  of  silence. 
But  she  raised  her  fingers,  and  again,  without  touch 
ing  it,  leaned  out  and  watched  the  dark  arch  of  the 
Rialto. 

A  gondola,  with  a  single  oar,  sped  swiftly  from 
its  black  shadow.  It  could  not  be  Paletto.  He 
had  gone  with  his  two  faithful  servants  to  St. 
Marc's.  The  oar  censed — the  bark  headed  in— the 


PA  LETTo's     BRIDE.  77 

water  splashed  on  the  marble  stair — and  the  gon 
dolier  stepped  on  shore.  Ah,  who  but  Paletto  had 
such  a  form  as  stood  there  in  the  moonlight  ? 

"Are  we  to  be  married  again,"  said  Francesca, 
as  her  husband  entered  the  chamber,  "  that  you 
have  once  more  disguised  yourself  as  a  fisherman?" 
Paletto  turned  from  the  light,  and  took  up  the 
mysterious  guitar.  "  It  is  no  night  to  be  in-doors, 
my  Francesca  !  Come  with  me  to  the  lagoon,  and 
I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  this  despised  instrument. 
Will  you  come  ?"  he  pursued,  as  she  stood  looking 
at  him  in  wonder  at  his  strange  dress  and  disturbed 
look.  "  Will  you  come,  my  wife  1" 

"But  you  have  returned  without  your  gondo 
liers  !"  she  said,  advancing  a  step  to  take  his  hand. 
"  I  have  rowed  a  gondola  ere  now,"  he  answered  ; 
and,  without  further  explanation,  he  led  her  down 
the  lofty  staircase,  and  seating  her  in  the  stern  of 
the  bark  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  stepped 
upon  the  platform,  and,  with  masterly  skill  and 
power,  drove  it  like  a  shadow  under  the  Rialto. 

He  who  has  watched  the  horn  of  a  quarter-moon 
gliding  past  the  towers,  pinnacles  and  palaces  of  the 
drifting  clouds,  and  in  his  youthful  and  restless  brain, 
fancied  such  must  be  the  smooth  delight  and  chang 
ing  vision  of  a  traveller  in  strange  lands — one  who 
has  thus  dreamed  in  his  boyhood  will  scarce  shoot 
through  Venice  for  the  first  time  in  a  gondola,  with- 
7* 


'78  H  O  M  A  N  C  E     OF     T  R  A  V  £  Lv 

out  a  sense  of  familiarity  with  the  scene  and  motion. 
The  architecture  of  the  clouds  is  again  drifting  past, 
and  himself  seems  borne  onward  by  the  silver  shal- 
Jop  of  the  moon. 

Francesca  sat  on  the  low  cushion  of  the  gondola, 
watching  and  wondering.  How  should  her  luxu 
rious  Paletto  have  acquired  the  exquisite  skill  with 
which  he  drove  the  noiseless  boat  like  a  lance-fly 
•over  the  water-*  Another  gondola  approached  or 
was  left  behind,  the  corner  of  a  palace  was  to  be 
rounded,  or  the  black  arch  of  a  bridge  to  be  shot 
Bunder,  a*nd  the  peculiar  warning-cry  of  the  gondo- 
Siers,  giving  notice  of  their  unheard  approach,  fell 
from  his  lips  so  mechanically,  that  the  hireling  oars 
men  of  the  city,  marvelling  at  his  speed,  but  never 
doubting  that  it  was  a  comrade  of  the  Piazza,  added 
the  "fratello  mio"  to  their  passing  salutation.  She 
saw  by  every  broad  beam  of  light,  wrhich,  between 
the  palaces,  came  down  across  them,  a  brow  cloud 
ed  and  a  mind  far  from  the  oar  he  turned  so  skilfully. 
She  looked  at  the  gondola  in  which  she  sat.  It  was 
old  and  mean.  In  the  prow  lay  a  fisher's  net,  and 
the  shabby  guitar,  thrown  upon  it,  seemed  now,  at 
least,  not  out  of  place.  She  looked  up  at  Paletto 
once  more,  and,  in  his  bare  throat  and  bosom,  his 
loose  cap  and  neglected  hair,  she  could  with  diffi 
culty  recognize  the  haughty  stranger  of  the  Boboli. 
She  spoke  to  him.  It  was  necessary  to  break  the 


PALETTO'SBRIDE.  70 

low-born  spell  that  seemed  closing  around  her.  Pal- 
<etto  started  at  her  voice,  and  suspending  his  oar, 
while  the  gondola  still  kept  way  as  if  with  its  own 
irresistible  volition,  he  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes, 
and  seemed  waking  from  some  painful  dream. 

The  gondola  was  now  far  out  in  the  lagoon. — 
Around  them  floated  an  almost  impalpable  vapour, 
just  making  the  moonlight  visible,  and  the  soft  click 
of  the  water  beneath  the  rising  and  dropping  prow 
was  the  only  sound  between  them  and  the  cloudless 
heaven.  In  that  silence  Paletto  strung  his  guitar 
and  sang  to  his  bride  with  a  strange  energy.  She 
listened  and  played  with  his  tangled  locks,  but  there 
seemed  a  spell  upon  her  tongue  when  she  would  ask 
the  meaning  of  this  mystery. 

"  Francesca  !"  he  said  at  last,  raising  his  head  from 
her  lap. 

"  What  says  my  fisherman  ?"  she  replied,  holding 
up  his  rough  cap  with  a  smile. 

Paletto  started,  but  recovering  his  composure,  in 
stantly  took  the  cap  from  her  jewelled  fingers  and 
threw  it  carelessly  upon  his  head. 

"  Francesca !  who  is  your  husband  ?" 

"  Paletto." 

"  And  who  is  Paletto  ?" 

"  I  would  have  asked  sometimes,  but  your  kisses 
have  interrupted  me.  Yet  I  know  enough." 

"  What  know  you  ?" 


80  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"  That  he  is  a  rich  and  noble  seignior  of  Venice  !" 

"  Do  I  look  one  to-night  ?" 

"  Nay — for  a  masquerade,  I  have  never  seen  a 
better  !  Where  learned  you  to  look  so  like' a  fisher 
man  and  row  so  like  a  gondolier  ?" 

Paletto  frowned. 

"  Francesca  !"  said  he  folding  his  arms  across  his 
bosom,  "  I  am  the  son  of  a  fisherman,  and  I  was 
bred  to  row  the  gondola  beneath  you  !" 

The  sternness  of  his  tone  checked  the  smile  upon 
her  beautiful  lip,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  with  a 
look  almost  as  stern  as  his  own. 

"  You  mock  me  too  gravely,  Paletto  !  But  come ! 
I  will  question  you  in  your  own  humour.  Who  edu 
cated  the  fisherman's  son  ?" 

"  The  fisherman." 

"  And  his  palace  and  his  wealth — whence  came 
they,  Signor  Pescatore  ?" 

The  scornful  smile  of  incredulity  with  which  this 
question  was  asked,  speedily  fled  from  her  lip  as 
Paletto  answered  it. 

"  Listen  !  Three  months  since  I  had  never  known 
other  condition  than  a  fisherman  of  the  lagoon,  nor 
worn  other  dress  than  this  in  which  you  see  me. 
The  first  property  I  ever  possessed  beyond  my  day's 
earnings,  was  this  gondola.  It  was  my  father's, 
Giannotto  the  fisherman.  When  it  became  mine 
by  his  death,  I  suddenly  wearied  of  my  tame  life, 


BRIDE.  81 

sold  boat  and  nets,  and  with  thoughts  which  you 
cannot  understand,  but  which  have  brought  you 
here,  took  my  way  to  the  Piazza.  A  night  of 
chance,  begun  with  the  whole  of  my  inheritance 
staked  upon  a  throw,  left  me  master  of  wealth  I 
had  never  dreamed  of.  I  became  a  gay  signore. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  my  soul  had  gone  out  of  me, 
and  a  new  spirit,  demoniac  if  you  will,  had  taken 
possession.  I  no  longer  recognized  myself.  I  pass 
ed  for  an  equal  with  the  best-born,  my  language 
altered,  my  gait,  my  humour.  One  strong  feeling 
alone  predominated — an  insane  hatred  to  the  rank 
in  which  you  were  born,  Francesca  !  It  was  strange, 
too,  that  I  tried  to  ape  its  manners.  I  bought  the 
palace  you  have  just  left,  and  filled  it  with  costly 
luxuries.  And  then  there  grew  upon  me  the  desire 
to  humiliate  that  rank — to  pluck  down  to  myself 
some  one  of  its  proud  and  cherished  daughters — 
such  as  you !" 

Francesca  muttered  something  between  her  teeth, 
and  folded  her  small  arms  over  her  bosom.  Paletto 
went  on. 

"  I  crossed  to  Florence  with  this  sole  intention. 
Unknown  and  uninvited,  I  entered  the  palace  at  the 
fete  of  the  Boboli,  and  looked  around  for  a  victim. 
You  were  the  proudest  and  most  beautiful.  I  chose 
you  and  you  are  here." 


82  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

Paletto  looked  at  her  with  a  smile,  and  never 
sunbeam  was  more  unmixed  with  shadow  than  the 
smile  which  answered  it  on  the  lips  of  Spinola's 
daughter. 

"  My  Paletto  !"  she  said,  "  you  have  the  soul  of 
a  noble,  and  the  look  of  one,  and  I  am  your  bride. 
Let  us  return  to  the  palace  !" 

"  I  have  no  palace  but  this  !"  he  said  striking  his 
hand  like  a  bar  of  iron  upon  the  side  of  the  gondola, 
"  You  have  not  heard  out  my  tale." 

Francesca  sat  with  a  face  unmoved  as  marble. 

"  This  night,  at  play,  I  lost  all.  My  servants  are 
dismissed,  my  palace  belongs  to  another,  and  with 
this  bark  which  I  had  repurchased,  I  am  once  more 
Paletto  the  fisherman !" 

A  slight  heave  of  the  bosom  of  the  fair  Florentine 
was  her  only  response  to  this  astounding  announce 
ment.  Her  eyes  turned  slowly  from  the  face  of 
the  fisherman,  and  fixing  apparently  on  some  point 
far  out  in  the  Adriatic,  she  sat  silent,  motionless  and 
cold. 

"  I  am  a  man,  Francesca  !"  said  Paletto  after  a 
pause  which,  in  the  utter  stillness  of  the  lagoon 
around  them,  seemed  like  a  suspension  of  the  breath 
ing  of  nature,  and  "  I  have  not  gone  through  this 
insane  dream  without  some  turning  aside  of  the 
heart.  Spite  of  myself,  I  loved  you,  and  I  could 
not  dishonour  you.  We  are  married,  Francesca  !" 


BRIDE. 


83 


The  small  dark  brows  of  the  Florentine  lowered 
till  the  silken  lashes  they  overhung  seemed  starting 
from  beneath  here  forehead.  Her  eyes  flashed  fire 
below. 

"Bene!"  said  Paletto,  rising  to  his  feet;  "one 
word  more  while  we  have  silence  around  us  and 
are  alone.  You  are  free  to  leave  me,  and  I  will  so 
far  repair  the  wrong  I  have  done  you,  as  to  point 
out  the  way.  It  will  be  daylight  in  an  hour.  Fly 
to  the  governor's  palace,  announce  your  birth, 
declare  that  you  were  forced  from  your  father  by 
brigands,  and  claim  his  protection.  The  world  will 
believe  you,  and  the  consequences  to  myself  I  will 
suffer  in  silence." 

With  a  sudden,  convulsive  motion,  Francesca 
thrust  out  her  arm,  and  pointed  a  single  finger  to 
ward  Venice.  Paletto  bent  to  his  oar,  and  quivering 
in  every  seam  beneath  its  blade,  the  gondola  sped 
on  its  way.  The  steel  prow  struck  fire  on  the  gra 
nite  steps  of  the  Piazza,  the  superb  daughter  of  Spi- 
nola  stepped  over  the  trembling  side,  and  with  a 
half-wave  of  her  hand,  strode  past  the  Lion  of  St. 
Mark,  and  approached  the  sentinel  at  the  palace- 
gate.  And  as  her  figure  was  lost  among  the  ara 
besque  columns  shaded  from  the  moon,  Paletto's 
lonely  gondola  shot  once  more  silently  and  slowly 
from  the  shore. 


84  ROMANCEOF     TRAVEL.. 


CHAP.   II. 

The  smooth,  flat  pavement  of  the  Borg'ognisanti 
had  been  covered  since  morning  with  earth,  and  the 
windows  and  balconies  on  eit'  :er  side  were  flaunting 
with  draperies  of  the  most  gorgeous  colours.  The 
riderless  horse-races,  which  conclude  the  carnival 
in  Florence,  were  to  be  honoured  by  the  presence 
of  the  court.  At  the  far  extremity  of  the  street, 
close  by  the  gate  of  the  Cascine,  an  open  veranda,, 
painted  in  fresco,  stood  glittering  with  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  royal  party,  and  near  it  the  costlier 
hangings  of  here  and  there  a  window  or  balustrade, 
showed  the  embroidered  crests  of  the  different 
nobles  of  Tuscany.  It  was  the  people's  place  and 
hour,  and  beneath  the  damask  and  cloth  of  gold, 
the  rough  stone  windows  were  worn  smooth  by  the 
touch  of  peasant  hands,  and  the  smutch' d  occupants, 
looking  down  from  the  balconies  above,  upon  the 
usurpers  of  their  week-day  habitations,  formed,  to 
the  stranger's  eye,  not  the  least  interesting  feature 
of  the  scene* 

As  evening  approached,  the  balconies  began  to 
show  their  burden  of  rank  and  beauty,  and  the  street 
below  filled  with  the  press  of  the  gay  contadini. 
The  ducal  cortege,  in  open  carriages,  drove  down 
the  length  of  the  course  to  their  veranda  at  the  gate, 


PALETTO'S   BRIDE.  85 

but  no  other  vehicle  was  permitted  to  enter  the  ser 
ried  crowd ;  and,  on  foot  like  the  peasant-girl,  the 
noble's  daughter  followed  the  servants  of  her  house, 
who  slowly  opened  for  her  a  passage  to  the  balcony 
she  sought.  The  sun- light  began  to  grow  golden. 
The  convent-bell  across  the  Arno  rang  the  first  peal 
of  vespers,  and  the  horses  were  led  in. 

It  was  a  puzzle  to  any  but  an  Italian  how  that 
race  was  to  be  run.  The  entire  population  of  Flor 
ence  was  crowded  into  a  single  narrow  street,  men, 
women  and  children,  struggling  only  for  a  foothold. 
The  signal  was  about  to  be  given  for  the  start,  yet 
no  attempt  was  made  to  clear  a  passage.  Twenty 
high-spirited  horses  fretted  behind  the  rope,  each 
with  a  dozen  spurs  hung  to  his  surcingales,  which, 
at  the  least  motion,  must  drive  him  onward  like  the 
steed  of  Mazeppa.  Gay  ribands  were  braided  in 
their  manes,  and  the  bets  ran  high.  All  sounded  and 
looked  merry,  yet  it  would  seem  as  if  the  loosing  of 
the  start-rope  must  be  like  the  letting  in  of  destruc 
tion  upon  the  crowd. 

In  a  projecting  gallery  of  a  house  on  the  side  next 
the  Arno,  was  a  party  that  attracted  attention, 
somewhat  from  their  rank  and  splendid  attire,  but 
more  from  the  remarkable  beauty  of  a  female,  who 
seemed  their  star  and  idol.  She  was  something 
above  the  middle  height  of  the  women  of  Italy,  and 
of  the  style  of  face  seen  in  the  famous  Judith  of 
8 


86  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

the  Pitti — dark,  and  of  melancholy  so  unfathomable 
as  almost  to  affray  the  beholder.  She  looked  a 
brooding  prophetess,  yet  through  the  sad  expression 
of  her  features  there  was  a  gleam  of  fierceness,  that 
to  the  more  critical  eye  betrayed  a  more  earthly 
gleam  of  human  passion  and  suffering.  As  if  to 
belie  the  maturity  of  years  of  which  such  an  expres 
sion  should  be  the  work,  an  ungloved  hand  and  arm 
of  almost  child-like  softness  and  roundness  lay  on 
the  drapery  of  the  railed  gallery  ;  and  stealing  from 
that  to  her  just-perfected  form,  the  gazer  made  a 
new  judgment  of  her  year.-,  while  he  wondered 
what  strange  fires  had  forced  outward  the  riper 
lineaments  of  her  character. 

The  Count  Fazelli,  the  husband  of  this  fair  dame, 
stood  within  reach  of  her  hand,  for  it  w  s  pressed 
on  his  arm  with  no  gentle  touch,  yet  his  face  was 
turned  from  her.  He  was  a  slight  youth,  little 
older,  apparently,  than  herself,  of  an  effeminate  and 
yet  wilful  cast  of  countenance,  and  would  have  been 
pronounced  by  women  (what  a  man  would  scarce 
allow  him  to  be)  eminently  handsome.  Effeminate 
coxcomb  as  he  was,  he  had  power  over  the  stronger 
nature  beside  him,  and  of  such  stuff,  in  courts  and 
cities,  are  made,  sometimes,  the  heroes  whose  suc 
cess  makes  worthier  men  almost  forswear  the  wor 
ship  due  to  women. 


BRIDE.  87 

There  were  two  other  persons  in  the  balconies  of 
the  Corso,  who  were  actors  in  the  drama  of  which 
this  was  a  scene.  The  first  was  the  prima  donna 
of  the  Cocomero,  to  whose  rather  mature  charms 
the  capricious  Fazelli  had  been  for  a  month  paying 
a  too  open  homage  ;  and  the  second  was  a  captain 
in  the  duke's  guard,  whose  personal  daring  in  the 
extermination  of  a  troop  of  brigands,  had  won  for 
him  some  celebrity  and  his  present  commission. 
What  thread  of  sympathy  rested  between  so  hum 
ble  an  individual  and  the  haughty  Countess  Fazelli, 
will  be  shown  in  the  sequel.  Enough  for  the  pre 
sent,  that  as  he  stood  leaning  against  the  pillar  of  an 
opposite  gallery,  looking  carelessly  on  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  course,  that  proud  dame  saw  and 
remembered  him. 

A  blast  from  a  bugle  drew  all  eyes  to  the  starting- 
post,  and  in  another  minute  the  rope  was  dropped 
and  the  fiery  horses  loosed  upon  their  career.  Right 
into  the  crowd,  as  if  the  bodies  of  the  good  citizens 
of  Florence  were  made  of  air,  sprang  the  goaded 
troop,  and  the  impossible  thing  was  done,  for  the 
suffocating  throngs  divided  like  waves  before  the 
prow,  and  united  again  as  scatheless  and  as  soon. 
The  spurs  played  merrily  upon  the  flanks  of  the 
affrighted  animals,  and  in  an  instant  they  had  swept 
through  the  Borg'ognisanti,  and  disappeared  into 
the  narrow  lane  leading  to  the  Trinita.  It  was 


88  ROMANGEOF     TRAVEL* 

more  a  scramble  than  a  race,  yet  there  must  be  $ 
winner,  and  all  eyes  were  now  occupied  in  gazing 
after  the  first  glimpse  of  his  ribands  as  he  was  led 
back  in  triumph. 

Uncompelled  by  danger,  the  suffocating  crowd 
made  way  with  more  difficulty  for  the  one  winning 
horse  than  they  had  done  for  the  score  that  had 
contended  with  him.  Yet,  champing  the  bit,  and 
tossing  his  ribands  into  the  air,  he  came  slowly  back, 
and  after  passing  in  front  of  the  royal  veranda, 
where  a  small  flag  was  thrown  down  to  be  set  into 
the  rosette  of  his  bridle,  he  returned  a  few  steps,  and 
was  checked  by  the  groom  under  the  balcony  of 
the  prim  a  donna.  A  moment  after,  the  winning 
flag  was  waving  from  the  rails  above,  and  as  the 
sign  that  she  was  the  owner  of  the  victorious  horse 
was  seen  by  the  people,,  a  shout  arose  which  thrilled 
the  veins  of  the  fair  singer,  more  than  all  the  plau 
dits  of  the  Cocomero.  It  is  thought  to  be  pleasant 
to  succeed  in  that  for  which  we  have  most  struggled 
— that  for  which  our  ambition  and  our  efforts  are 
known  to  the  world — to  be  eminent,  in  short,  in  our 
metier — our  vocation.  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  nat 
ural  to  most  men,  however,  and  to  all  possessors  of 
genius,  to  undervalue  that  for  which  the  world  is 
most  willing  to  praise  them,  and  to  delight  more  in 
excelling  in  that  which  seems  foreign  to  their  usual 
pursuits,  even  if  it  be  a  trifle.  It  is  delightful  to  dis- 


BRIDE.  89 

appoint  the  world  by  success  in  anything.  Detrac 
tion,  that  follows  genius  to  the  grave,  sometimes 
admits  its  triumph,  but  never  without  the  "  back 
water"  that  it  could  do  no  more.  The  fine  actress 
had  won  a  shout  from  assembled  Florence,  yet  off 
the  scene.  She  laid  one  hand  upon  her  heart,  and 
the  other,  in  the  rash  exultation  of  the  moment,  ven 
tured  to  wave  a  kiss  of  gratitude  to  the  Count 
Fazelli. 

As  that  favoured  signor  crossed  to  offer  his  con 
gratulations,  his  place  beside  the  countess  was  filled 
by  a  young  noble,  who  gave  her  the  explanatory 

information — that   the   horse  was  Fazelli's  gift. 

Calmly,  almost  without  a  sign  of  interest  or  emotion, 
she  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  opposite  balcony.  A 
less  searching  and  interested  glance  would  have  dis 
covered,  that  if  the  young  count  had  hitherto  shared 
the  favour  of  the  admired  singer  with  his  rivals,  he 
bad  no  rival  now.  There  was  in  the  demeanour  of 
both  an  undisguised  tenderness  that  the  young 
countess  had  little  need  to  watch  long,  and  retiring 
from  the  balcony,  she  accepted  the  attendance  of  her 
communicative  companion,  and  was  soon  whirling 
in  her  chariot  over  the  Ponte  St.  Angelo,  on  her 
way  to  the  princely  palace  that  would  soon  cease  to 
call  her  its  mistress. 


8* 


90  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

Like  square  ingots  of  silver,  the  moonlight  came 
through  the  battlements  of  the  royal  abode  of  the 
Medici.  It  was  an  hour  before  day.  The  heavy 
heel  of  the  sentry  was  the  only  sound  near  the  walls 
of  the  Pitti,  save,  when  he  passed  to  turn,  the  rip 
ple  of  the  Arno  beneath  the  arches  of  the  jeweller's 
bridge  broke  faintly  on  the  ear.  The  captain  of  the 
guard  had  strolled  fron\  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
palace  into  the  open  moonlight,  and  leaned  against  a 
small  stone  shrine  of  the  Virgin  set  into  the  opposite 
wall,  watching  musingly  the  companionable  and 
thought-stirring  empress  of  the  night. 

"  Paletto  !"  suddenly  uttered  a  voice  near  him  1 

The  guardsman  started,  but  instantly  recovered 
his  position ;  and  stood  looking  over  his  epaulet  at 
the  intruder,  with  folded  arms. 

"  Paletto  !"  she  said  again,  in  a  lower  and  more 
appealing  tone  ;  "  will  you  listen  to  me  ?" 

"  Say  on,  Countess  Fazelli !" 

"  Countess  Fazelli  no  longer,  but  Paletfto's  wife  !" 

"  Ha !  ha !"  laughed  the  guardsman  bitterly,  "that 
story  is  old,  for  so  false  a  one." 

"  Scorn  me  not !  I  am  changed."  The  dark  eyes 
of  Francesca  Cappone  lifted  up,  moist  and  full,  into 
the  moonlight,  and  fixing  them  steadfastly  on  the 
soldier's,  she  seemed  to  demand  that  he  should  read 
her  soul  in  them.  For  an  instant,  as  he  did  so,  a 
troubled  emotion  was  visible  in  his  own  features, 


PALETTOS     BRIDE. 


but  a  new  thought  seemed  to  succeed  the  feeling 
and  turning  away  with  a  cold  gesture,  he  said,  "  I 
knew  you  false,  but  till  now  I  thought  you  pure. 
Tempt  me  not  to  despise  as  well  as  hate  you  !" 

"  I  have  deserved  much  at  your  hand,"  she  ans 
wered,  with  a  deeper  tone,  "  but  not  this.  You  are 
my  husband,  Paletto  !" 

"  One  of  them  !"  he  replied  with  a  sneer. 

Francesca  clasped  her  hands  in  agony.  "  I  have 
come  to  you,"  she  said,  "  trusting  the  generous 
nature  which  I  have  proved  so  well.  I  cannot  live 
unloved.  I  deserted  you,  for  I  was  ignorant  of  my 
self.  I  have  tried  splendour  and  the  love  of  my 
own  rank,  but  one  is  hollow  and  the  last  is  selfish. 
Oh  Paletto  !  What  love  is  generous  like  yours  !" 

The  guardsman's  bosom  heaved,  but  he  did  not 
turn  to  her.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  I 
have  come  to  implore  you  to  take  me  back,  Paletto. 
False  as  I  was  to  you,  you  have  been  true  to  me. 
I  would  be  your  wife  again.  I  would  share  your 
poverty,  if  you  were  once  more  a  fisherman  on  the 
lagoon.  Are  you  inexorable,  Paletto  1 

Her  hand  stole  up  to  his  shoulder;  she  crept 
closer  to  him,  and  buried  her  head,  unrepelled,  in 
his  bosom.  Paletto  laid  his  hand  upon  the  mass  of 
raven  hair  whose  touch  had  once  been  to  him  so 
familiar,  and  while  the  moon  drew  their  shadows  as 
one  on  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  the  vows  of  early 


92  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL, 

love  were  repeated  with  a  fervour  unknown  hither 
to  to  the  lips  of  Cappone's  daughter,  the  Paletto 
replied,  not  like  a  courtly  noble,  but  like  that  which 
was  more  eloquent — his  own  love-prompted  and 
fiery  spirit. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  brief  but  fierce  rencontre 
between  Count  Fazelli  and  the  guardsman  Paletto, 
at  the  door  of  the  church  of  Santa  Trinita.  Fran- 
cesca  had  gone  openly  with  her  husband  to  ves 
pers,  attended  by  a  monk.  When  attacked  by  the 
young  count  as  the  daring  abducer  of  his  wife,  he 
had  placed  her  under  that  monk's  protection  till  the 
quarrel  should  be  over,  and,  with  the  same  holy 
man  to  plead  his  cause,  he  boldly  claimed  his  wife 
at  the  duke's  hands,  and  bore  her  triumphantly  from 
Florence. 

I  heard  this  story  in  Venice.  The  gondolier 
Paletto  they  say  still  rows  his  boat  on  the  lagoon, 
and  sometimes  his  wife  is  with  him,  and  sometimes 
a  daughter,  whose  exquisite  beauty,  though  she  is 
still  a  child,  is  the  wonder  of  the  Rialto  as  he  passes 
under.  I  never  chanced  to  see  him,  but  many  a 
stranger  has  hired  the  best  oar  of  the  Piazza,  to  pull 
out  toward  the  Adriatic  in  the  hope  of  finding 
Paletto's  boat  and  getting  a  glimpse  of  his  proud 
and  still  most  beautiful  wife — a  wife,  it  is  said,  than 
whom  a  happier  or  more  contented  one  with  her  lot, 
lives  not  in  the  "  city  of  the  sea." 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL- 


VIOLAIMTA   CESARINI. 


CHAP.  I. 

"  When  every  feather  sticks  in  its  own  wing, 
Lord  Timon  will  be  left  a  naked  gull." 

IT  was  an  eve  fit  for  an  angel's  birthnight,  (and  we 
know  angels  are  born  in  this  loving  world,)  and 
while  the  moon,  as  if  shining  only  for  artist's  eyes, 
drew  the  outlines  of  palace  and  chapel,  stern  turret 
and  serenaded  belvidere,  with  her  silver  pencil  on  the 
street,  two  grave  seniors,  guardians  in  their  own 
veins  of  the  blood  of  two  lofty  names  known  long  to 
Roman  story,  leaned  together  over  a  balcony  of 
fretted  stone,  jutting  out  upon  the  Corso,  and  affian- 


96  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

ced  a  fair  and  noble  maid  of  seventeen  summers  to  a 
gentleman  whose  character  you  shall  learn,  if  we 
come  safe  to  the  sequel. 

"  The  cardinal  has  offered  me  a  thousand  scudi 
for  my  Giorgione,"  said  the  old  Count  Malaspina,  at 
last,  changing  his  attitude  and  the  subject  at  the  same 

time. 

"  Anima  di  porco !"  exclaimed  the  other,  uwhat 
stirs  the  curtain  ?  The  wind  is  changing,  Malaspina. 
Let  us  in  !  So,  he  offers  but  a  thousand  !  I  shall 
feel  my  rheumatism  to-morrow  with  this  change. 
But  a  thousand !  ha  ha !  Let  us  in !  Let  us  in !" 

"  Let  us  out,  say  I !"  murmured  two  lips  that  were 
never  made  of  cherries,  though  a  bird  would  have 
pecked  at  them;  and  stealing  from  behind  the  curtain, 
whose  agitation  had  persuaded  her  father  that  the 
wind  was  rising,  Violanta  Cesarini,  countess  in  her 
own  right,  and  beautiful  by  heaven's  rare  grace, 
stepped  forth  into  the  moonlight. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  as  she  looked  down  into 
the  Corso.  The  carriages  were  creeping  up  and 
down  at  a  foot-pace,  and  the  luxurious  dames,  thrown 
back  on  their  soft  cushions,  nodded  to  the  passers  by, 
as  they  recognized  friends  and  acquaintances  where 
the  moonlight  broke  through ;  crowds  of  slowprome- 
naders  loitered  indolently  on,  now  turning  to  look  at 
the  berry-brown  back  of  a  Contadina,with  her  stride 
like  a  tragedy-queen,  and  her  eyes  like  wells  of  jet, 


VIOLANTACESARINI.  97 

and  now  leaning  against  a  palace  wall,  while  a  wan 
dering  harp-girl  sung  better  for  a  baiocco  than  noble 
ladies  for  the  praise  of  a  cardinal ;  at  one  corner 
stood  an  artist  with  his  tablet,  catching  some  chance 
effect  perhaps  in  the  drapery  of  a  marble  saint, 
perhaps  in  the  softer  drapery  of  a  sinner;  the  cafes 
far  up  and  down,  looked  like  festas  out  of  doors,  with 
their  groups  of  gaily  dressed  idlers,  eating  sherbets 
and  buying  flowers ;  a  gray  friar  passed  now  with 
his  low  toned  benedicite;  and  again  a  black  cowl 
with  a  face  that  reddened  the  very  moonbeam  that 
peeped  under ;  hunchbacks  contended  testily  for  the 
wall  and  tall  fellows  (by  their  long  hair  and  fine 
symmetry,  professed  models  for  sculptors  and  paint 
ers)  yielded  to  them  with  a  gibe.  And  this  is  Rome 
when  the  moon  shines  well,  and  on  this  care  cheat 
ing  scene  looked  down  the  Countess  Violanta,  with 
her  heart  as  full  of  perplexity  as  her  silk  boddice- 
lace  would  bear  without  breaking. 

I  dare  say  you  did  not  observe,  if  you  were  in 
Rome  that  night,  and  strolling,  as  you  would  have 
been,  in  the  Corso,  (this  was  three  years  ago  last 
May,  and  if  you  were  in  the  habit  of  reading  the 
Diario  di  Roma,  the  story  wrill  not  be  new  to  you ;) 
you  did  not  observe,  I  am  sure,  that  a  thread  ran 
across  from  the  balcony  I  speak  of,  in  the  Palazzo 
Cesarini,  to  a  high  window  in  an  old  palace  opposite, 
inhabited,  as  are  many  palaces  in  Rome,  by  a 
0 


98  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

decayed  family  and  several  artists.  On  the  two 
sides  of  this  thread,  pressed,  while  she  mused,  the 
slight  fingers  of  Violanta  Cesarini ;  and,  as  if  it 
descended  from  the  stars  at  every  pull  which  the 
light  May-breeze  gave  it  in  passing,  she  turned  her 
soft  blue  eyes  upwards,  and  her  face  grew  radiant 
with  hope — not  such  as  is  fed  with  star-gazing ! 

Like  a  white  dove  shooting  with  slant  wings 
downwards  a  folded  slip  of  paper  flew  across  on 
this  invisible  thread,  and,  by  heaven's  unflickering 
lamp,  Violanta  read  some  characters  traced  with  a 
rough  crayon,  but  in  most  sweet  Italian.  A  look 
upwards,  and  a  nod,  as  if  she  were  answering  the 
stars  that  peeped  over  her,  and  the  fair  form  had 
gone  with  its  snowy  robes  from  the  balcony,  and 
across  the  high  window  from  which  the  messenger 
had  come,  dropped  the  thick  and  impenetrable  folds 
of  the  gray  curtain  of  an  artist. 

It  was  a  large  upper  room,  such  as  is  found  in  the 
vast  houses  of  the  decayed  nobility  of  Rome,  and  of 
its  two  windows  one  was  roughly  boarded  up  to 
exclude  the  light,  while  a  coarse  gray  cloth  did 
nearly  the  same  service  at  the  other,  shutting  out  all 
but  an  artist's  modicum  of  day.  The  walls  of  rough 
plaster  were  covered  with  grotesque  drawings,  done 
apparently  with  bits  of  coal,  varied  here  and  there 
with  scraps  of  unframed  canvass,  nailed  carelessly 


VIOLANTACESARINI.  99 

np,  and  covered  with  the  study  of  some  head,  by  a 
famous  master.  A  large  table  on  one  side  of  the 
room  was  burdened  with  a  confused  heap  of  brushes^ 
paint-bags,  and  discoloured  cloths,  surmounted  with 
a  clean  pallette ;  and  not  far  off  stood  an  easel, 
covered  with  thumb-marks  of  all  dyes,  and  support 
ing  a  new  canvass,  on  which  was  outlined  the  figure 
of  a  nymph,  with  the  head  finished  in  a  style  that 
would  have  stirred  the  warm  blood  of  Raphael 
himself  with  emulous  admiration.  A  low  flock  bed, 
and  a  chair  without  a  bottom,  but  with  a  large  cloak 
hung  over  its  back,  a  pair  of  foils  and  a  rapier,  com 
pleted  so  much  of  the  furniture  of  the  room  as 
belonged  to  a  gay  student  of  Corregio's  art,  who 
wrote  himself  Biondo  Amieri. 

By  the  light  of  ths  same  antique  lamp,  hung  on  a 
rusty  nail  against  the  wall,  you  might  see  a  very 
good  effect  on  the  face  of  an  unfinished  group  in 
marble,  of  which  the  model,  in  plaster,  stood  a  little 
behind,  representing  a  youth  with  a  dagger  at  his 
heart,  arrested  in  the  act  of  self-murder  by  a  female, 
whose  softened  resembled  to  him  proclaimed  her  at 
the  first  glance  his  sister.  A  mallet,  chisels,  and 
other  implements  used  in  sculpture,  lay  on  the  rough 
base  of  the  unfinished  group,  and  half  disclosed,  half 
concealed,  by  a  screen  covered  with  prints  by  some 
curious  female  hand,  stood  a  bed  with  white  curtains, 
and  an  oratory  of  carved  oak  at  its  head,  supporting 


100  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

a  clasped  missal.  A  chair  or  two,  whose  seats  of 
worked  satin  had  figured  one  day  in  more  luxurious 
neighborhood,  a  table  covered  with  a  few  books  and 
several  drawings  from  the  antique,  and  a  carefully 
locked  escritoire,  served,  with  other  appearances,  to 
distinguish  this  side  of  the  room  as  belonging 'to  a 
separate  occupant,  of  gentler  taste  or  nurture. 

While  the  adventurous  Violanta  is  preparing  her 
self  to  take  advantage  of  the  information  received 
by  her  secret  telegraph,  I  shall  have  time,  dear 
reader,  to  put  you  up  to  a  little  of  the  family  history 
of  the  Cesarini,  necessary  no  less  to  a  proper  under 
standing  of  the  story,  than  to  the  herione's  character 
for  discretion.  On  the  latter  point,  I  would  suggest 
to  you,  you  may  as  well  suspend  your  opinion. 

It  is  well  known  to  all  the  gossips  in  Rome,  that, 
for  four  successive  generations,  the  Marquises  of 
Cesarini  have  obtained  dispensations  of  the  Pope  for 
marrying  beautiful  peasant  girls  from  the  neighbor 
hood  of  their  castle,  in  Romagna.  The  considera 
ble  sums  paid  for  these  dispensations,  reconciled  the 
Holy  See  to  such  an  unprecedented  introduction  of 
vulgar  blood  into  the  veins  of  the  nobility,  and  the 
remarkable  female  beauty  of  the  race,  (heightened 
by  the  addition  of  nature's  aristocracy  to  its  own,) 
contributed  to  maintain  good-will  at  a  court,  devoted 
above  all  others  to  the  cultivation  of  the  fine  arts, 
of  which  woman  is  the  Eidolon  and  the  souk  The 


VIOL Atf TA     CESARINA.  101 

last  marquis,  educated  like  his  fathers,  in  their  wild 
domain  among  the  mountains,  selected,  like  them, 
the  fairest  wild-flower  that  sprung  at  his  feet,  and 
after  the  birth  of  one  son,  applied  for  the  tardy  dis 
pensation.     From  some  unknown   cause,  (possibly 
a  diminished  bribe,  as  the  marquis  was  less  lavish 
in  his  disposition  than  his  predecessors,)  the  Pope 
sanctioned  the  marriage,  but  refused  to  legitimatize 
the  son,  unless  the  next  born  should  be  a  daughter. 
The  marchioness  soon  after  retired,  (from  mortifi 
cation  it  is  supposed,)  to  her  home  in  the  mountains, 
and  after  two  years  of  close  seclusion,  returned  to 
Rome,  bringing  with  her  an  infant  daughter,  then 
three  months  of  age,  destined  to  be  the  heroine  of  our 
story.     No  other  child  appearing,  the  young  Cesa- 
rini  was  legitimatized,  and  with  his  infant  sister  pass 
ed  most  of  his  youth  at  Rome.  Some  three  or  four  years 
before  the  time  when  our  tale  commences,  this  youth, 
who  had  betrayed  always,  a  coarse  and  brutal  tem 
per,  administered  his  stiletto  to  a  gentleman  on  the 
Corso,  and  flying  from  Rome,  became  a  brigand 
in  the  Abruzzi.     His  violence  and  atrocity  in  this 
congenial  life,  soon  put  him  beyond  hope  of  pardon, 
and  on  his  outlawry  by  the  Pope,  Violanta  became 
the  heiress  of  the  estates  of  Cesarini. 

The  marchioness  had  died  when  Violanta  was 
between  seven  and  eight  years  of  age,  leaving  her, 
by  a  deathbed  injunction,  in  the  charge  of  her  own 
9* 


102  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

constant  attendant,  afaithful  servant  from  Romagno, 
supposed  to  be  distant  kinswomen  to  her  mistress. 
With  this  tried  dependant,  the  young  countess  was 
permitted  to  go  where  she  pleased,  at  all  hours 
when  not  attended  by  her  masters,  and  seeing  her 
tractable  and  lovely,  the  old  marquess,  whose  pride 
in  the  beauty  of  his  family  was  the  passion  next  to 
love  of  money  in  his  heart,  gave  himself  little  trouble, 
and  thought  himself  consoled  for  the  loss  of  his  son 
in  the  growing  attractions  and  filial  virtues  of  his 
daughter- 
On  a  bright  morning  in  early  spring,  six  years 
before  the  date  of  our  tale,  the  young  countess  and 
her  attendant  were  gathering  wild  flowers  near  the 
Fountain  of  Egeria,  (of  all  spots  of  earth,  that  on 
which  the  wild  flowers  are  most  profuse  and  sweet 
est,)  when  a  deformed  youth,  who  seemed  to  be 
no  stranger  to  Donna  Bettina,  addressed  Violanta 
in  a  tone  of  voice  so  musical,  and  with  a  look  so 
kindly  and  winning,  that  the  frank  child  took  his  hand, 
and  led  him  off  in  search  of  cardinals  and  Hue-bells, 
with  the  familiarity  of  an  established  playfellow. 
After  this  day,  the  little  countess  never  came  home 
pleased  from  a  morning  drive  and  ramble  in  which 
she  had  not  seen  her  friend  Signor  Giulio ;  and  the 
romantic  baths  of  Caracallav  and  the  many  delici 
ous  haunts  among  the  ruins  about  Rome,  had  borne 
witness  to  the  growth  of  a  friendship,  all  fondness 


VIOLANTACESARINA,  103 

and  impulse  on  the  part  of  Violanta,  all  tenderness 
and  delicacy  on  that  of  the  deformed  youth.  By 
what  wonderful  instinct  they  happened  always  to 
meet,  the  delighted  child  never  found  time  or  thought 
to  inquire. 

Two  or  three  years  passed  on  thus,  and  the  old 
marquess  had  grown  to  listen  with  amused  fami 
liarity  to  his  daughter's  prattle  about  the  deformed 
youth,  and  no  incident  had  varied  the  pleasant 
tenour  of  their  lives  and  rambles,  except  that,  Giulio 
once  falling  ill,  Bettina  had  taken  the  young  coun 
tess  to  his  home,  where  she  discovered  that,  young 
as  he  was,  he  made  some  progress  in  moulding  in 
clay,  and  was  destined  for  a  sculptor.  This  visit  to 
the  apartment  of  an  obscure  youth,  however,  the 
marquis  had  seen  fit  to  object  to  ;  and  though,  at  his 
daughter's  request,  he  sent  the  young  sculptor  an 
order  for  his  first  statue,  he  peremptorily  forbade  all 
further  intercourse  between  him  and  Violanta.  In 
the  paroxysm  of  her  grief  at  the  first  disgrace  she 
had  ever  fallen  into  with  her  master,  Bettina  dis 
closed  to  her  young  mistress,  by  way  of  justification, 
a  secret  she  had  been  bound  by  the  most  solemn 
oaths  to  conceal,  and  of  which  she  now  was  the  sole 
living  depository — that  this  deformed  youth  was  born 
in  the  castle  of  the  Cesarini,  inRomagna,  of  no  less 
obscure  parentage  than  the  castle's  lord  and  lady, 
and  beingthe  first  child  after  the  dispensation  of 


104  R  OM  A  N  CE    OF    T  R  A  VEL, 

marriage,  anda  son,  he  was  consequently  the  right 
ful  heir  to  the  marquisate  and  estates  of  Cesarini ; 
and  the  elder  son,  by  the  terms  of  that  dispensation, 
was  illegitimate. 

This  was  astounding  intelligence  to  Violanta, 
who,  nevertheless,  child  as  she  was,  felt  its  truth  in 
the  yearnings  of  her  heart  to  Giulio ;  but  it  was 
with  no  little  pains  and  difficulty  on  Bettina's  part, 
that  she  was  persuaded  to  preserve  the  secrc  t  from 
her  father.  The  Romagnese  knew  her  master's 
weakness  ;  and  as  the  birth  of  the  child  had  occurred 
during  his  long  absence  from  the  castle,  and  the 
marchioness,  proud  of  her  eldest-born,  had  deter 
mined  from  the  first  that  he  alone  should  enjoy  the 
name  and  honours  of  his  father,  it  was  not  very 
probable  that  upon  the  simple  word  of  a  domestic, 
he  would  believe  a  deformed  hunchback  to  be  his 
son  and  heir. 

The  into]  mediate  history  of  Giulio,  Bettina  knew 
little  about,  simply  informing  her  mistress,  that  dis 
gusted  with  his  deformity,  the  unnatural  mother  had 
sent  him  to  nurse  in  a  far-off  village  of  Romagna, 
and  that  the  interest  of  a  small  sum  which  the  mar 
quess  supposed  had  been  expended  on  masses  for 
the  souls  of  his  ancestors,  was  still  paid  to  his  foster- 
parents  for  his  use. 

From  the  time  of  this  disclosure,  Violanta's  life 
had  been  but  too  happy.  Feeling  justified  in  con- 


V  I  O  L  A  N  T  A   C  E  S  A  11  INI. 


105 


triving  secret  interviews  with  her  brother ;  and  pos 
sessing  the  efficient  connivance  of  Bettinti,  who  grew, 
like,  herself,  almost  to  worship  the  pure-minded 
and  the  gentle  Giulio,  her  heart  and  her  time  were 
blissfully  crowded  w'th  interest^  So  far,  the  love 
that  had  welled  from  her  heart  had  been  all  joyous 
and  untroubled. 

It  was  during  the  absence  of  the  marquis  and  his 
daughter  from  Rome,  and  in  an  unhealthy  season, 
that  Giulio,  always  delicate  in  health  and  liable  to 
excessive  fits  of  depression,  had  fallen  ill  in  his  soli 
tary  room,  and,  but  for  the  friendly  care  of  a  young 
artist  whom  he  had  long  known,  must  have  died  of 
want  and  neglect.  As  he  began  to  recover,  he  ac 
cepted  the  offer  of  Amicri,  his  friend,  to  share  with 
him  a  lodging  in  the  more  elevated  air  of  the  Cor- 
so,  and,  the  more  readily,  that  this  room  chanced  to 
overlook  the  palace  of  Cesarina.  Here  Violanta 
found  him  on  her  return,  and  though  displeased  that 
he  was  no  longer  alone,  she  still  continued,  when 
Amieri  was  absent,  to  see  him  sometimes  in  his 
room,  and  their  old  haunts  without  the  walls  were 
frequented  as  often  as  his  health  and  strength  would 
permit.  A  chance  meeting  of  Violanta  and  Amierj 
in  his  own  studio,  however,  made  it  necessary  that 
he  should  be  admitted  to  their  secret,  and  the  conse 
quence  of  that  interview,  and  others  which  Violanta 
found  it  impossible  to  avoid,  was  a  passion  in  the 


106  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL, 

heart  of  the  enthusiastic  painter,  which  consumed, 
as  it  well  might,  every  faculty  of  his  soul. 

We  are  thus  brought  to  an  evening  of  balmy  May, 
when  Giulio  found  himself  alone.  Biondo  had  been 
painting  all  day  on  the  face  of  his  nymph,  endea 
voring  in  vain  to  give  it  any  other  features  than  those 
of  the  lady  of  his  intense  worship,  and  having  gone 
out  to  ramble  for  fresh  air  and  relaxation  in  the  Cor- 
so,  Giulio  thought  he  might  venture  to  throw  across 
his  ball  of  thread  and  send  a  missive  to  his  sister, 
promising  her  an  uninterrupted  hour  of  his  society. 

With  these  preliminaries,  our  story  will  now  run 
smoothly  on. 


CHAP.  II. 

"  COME  in,  carissima  /"  said  the  low,  silver- toned 
voice  of  the  deformed  sculptor,  as  a  female  figure, 
in  the  hood  and  cloak  of  an  old  woman,  crossed  the 
threshold  of  his  chamber. 

"  Dear  Giulio  !"  And  she  leaned  slightly  over  the 
diminutive  form  of  her  brother,  and  first  kissing  his 
pale  forehead,  while  she  unfastened  the  clasp  of 
Bettina's  cloak  of  black  silk,  threw  her  arms  about 
him  as  the  disguise  fell  off,  and  multiplied,  between 
her  caresses,  the  endearing  terms  in  which  the  laix" 
guage  of  that  soft  clime  is  so  prodigal.. 


VIOLANTA    CESARINI.  107 

They  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  his  group  in  marble, 
and  each  told  the  little  history  of  the  hours  they  had 
spent  apart.  They  grew  alike  as  they  conversed ; 
for  theirs  was  that  resemblance  of  the  soul,  to  which 
the  features  answer  only  when  the  soul  is  breathing 
through.  Unless  seen  together,  and  not  only  toge 
ther,  but  gazing  on  each  other  in  complete  abandon 
ment  of  heart,  the  friends  that  knew  them  best 
would  have  said  they  were  unlike.  Yet  Amieri's 
nymph  on  the  canvass  was  like  both,  for  Amieridrew 
from  the  picture  burnt  on  his  own  heart  by  love,  and 
the  soul  of  Violanta  lay  breathing  beneath  every 
lineament. 

"You  have  not  touched  the  marble  to-day!"  said 
the  countess,  taking  the  lamp  from  its  nail,  and  shed 
ding  the  light  aslant  on  the  back  of  the  statue. 

"  No  !  I  have  lifted  the  hammer  twenty  times  to 
break  it  in  pieces." 

"  Ah  !  dearest  Giulio  !  talk  not  thus  !  Think  it  is 
my  image  you  would  destroy  !" 

"  If  it  were,  and  truly  done,  I  would  sooner  strike 
the  blessed  crucifix.  But,  Violanta  !  there  is  a  link 
wanting  in  this  deformed  frame  of  mine  !  The  sense 
of  beauty,  or  the  power  to  body  it  forth  wants  room 
in  me.  I  feel  it — I  feel  it !" 

Violanta  ran  to  him  and  pressed  the  long  curls 
that  fell  over  his  pallid  temples  to  her  bosom.  There 


108  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

was  a  tone  of  conviction  in  his  voice  that  she  knew 
not  how  to  answer. 

He  continued,  as  if  he  were  musing  aloud : 

"  I  have  tried  to  stifle  this  belief  in  my  bosom,  and 
have  never  spoken  of  it  till  now — but  it  is  true  ! 
Look  at  that  statue  !  Parts  of  it  are  like  nature — 
but  it  wants  uniformity — it  wants  grace — it  wants 
what  /  want — proportion !  I  never  shall  give  it 
that,  because  I  want  the  sense,  the  consciousness, 
the  emotion,  of  complete  godlike  movement.  It  is 
only  the  well  formed  who  feel  this.  Sculptors  may 
imitate  gods !  for  they  are  made  in  God's  image. 
But  oh,  Violanta  !  /  am  not !" 

"  My  poor  brother !" 

"Our  blessed  Saviour  was  not  more  beautiful 
than  the  Apollo,"  he  passionately  continued,  "  but 
could  /  feel  like  the  Apollo !  Can  /  stand  before 
the  clay  and  straighten  myself  to  his  attitude,  and 
fancy,  by  the  most  delirious  effort  of  imagination, 
that  I  realize  in  this  frame,  and  could  ever  have 
conceived  and  moulded  his  indignant  and  lofty  beau 
ty?"  No— no— no!" 

"  Dear — dear  Giulio."  He  dropped  his  head 
again,  and  she  felt  his  tears  penetrate  to  her  bosom. 

"  Leave  this  melancholy  theme,"  she  said,  in  an 
imploring  tone,  "  and  let  us  talk  of  other  things,  J 
have  something  to  tell  you,  Giulio  !" 


VIOEANTA    CE8ARINI.  109 

"Raphael  was  beautiful,"  he  said,  raising  himself 
up,  unconscious  of  the  interruption,  "  and  Giorgione, 
and  Titian,  both  nobly  formed,  and  Michael  Angelo 
had  the  port  of  an  archangel !  Yes,  the  soul  inha 
bits  the  whole  body,  and  the  sentiment  of  beauty 
moves  and  quickens  through  it  all.  My  tenement  is 
cramped  ! — Viola  nta  !" 

"Well  dear  brother!" 

"  Tell  me  your  feelings  when  you  first  breathe  the 
air  in  a  bright  morning  in  spring.  Do  you  feel 
graceful  ?  Is  there  a  sensation  of  beauty  ?  Do  you 
lift  yourself  and  feel  swan-like  and  lofty,  and  worthy 
of  the  divine  image  in  which  you  breathe.  Tell  me 
truly,  Violanta." 

"  Yes,  brother !" 

"  I  knew  it !  I  have  a  faint  dream  of  such  a  feel 
ing — a  sensation  that  is  confined  to  my  brain  some 
how  which  I  struggle  to  express  in  motio'n — but 
*f  I  lift  my  finger,  it  is  gone.  I  wratch  Amieri 
sometimes,  when  he  draws.  He  pierces  my  very 
soul  by  assuming,  always,  the  attitude  on  his  can 
vass.  Violanta !  how  can  /  stand  like  a  statue 
that  would  please  the  eye  ?" 

"Giulio!  Giulio!" 

"  Well,  I  will  not  burden  you  with  my  sadness. 
Let  us  look  at  Biondo's  nymph.    Pray  the  Virgin  he 
come  not  in  the  while — for  painting,  by  lamp-light, 
shows  less  fairly  than  marble." 
10 


110  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

He  took  the  lamp,  and  while  Violanta  shook  the 
tears  from  her  eyes,  he  drew  out  the  pegs  of  the 
easel,  and  lowered  the  picture  to  the  light. 

"  Are  you  sure  Amieri  will  not  come  in,  Giulio  ?" 
inquired  his  sister,  looking  back  timidly  at  the  door 
while  she  advanced. 

"  I  think  he  will  not.  The  Corso  is  gay  to  night, 
and  his  handsome  face  and  frank  carriage,  win  greet 
ings,  as  the  diamond  draws  light.  Look  at  his 
picture,  Violanta  !  With  what  triumph  he  paints  ! 
How  different  from  my  hesitating  hand!  The 
thought  that  is  born  in  his  fancy,  collects  instant  fire 
in  his  veins  and  comes  prompt  and  proportionate  to 
his  hand.  It  looks  like  a  thing  born,  not  wrought  ! 
How  beautiful  you  are,  my  Violanta  !  He  has  done 
well — brave  Biondo !" 
"  It  is  like  me,  yet  fairer." 

"  I  wish  it  were  done !  There  is  a  look  on  the  lips 
that  is  like  a  sensation  I  feel  sometimes  on  my  own 
I  almost  feel  as  if  I  should  straighten  and  grow  fair 
as  it  advances.  Would  it  not  be  a  blessed  thing, 
Violanta?" 

"  I  love  you  as  you  are,  dear  Giulio !" 

«  But  I  thirst  to  be  loved  like  other  men  !    I  would 

pass  in  the  street  and  not   read  pity  in  all  eyes.     I 

would  go  out  like  Biondo,  and  be  greeted  in   the 

street  with  '  Mio  bravo  !'  '  Mio  bello  !'     I  would  be 

beloved  by  some  one  that  is  not  my  sister,  Violanta  ! 

I  would  have  my  share— only  my  share — of  huma 


V  10  L  A  N  T  A    C  E  S  ARIN  I  .  Ill 

joy  and  regard.  I  were  better  dead  than  be  a 
hunchback.  I  would  die,  but  for  you — to-night — 
yes,  to  night." 

With  a  convulsive  hand  he  pulled  aside  the  cur 
tain,  and  sent  a  long,  earnest  look  up  to  the  stars. 
Violanta  had  never  before  heard  him  give  words  to 
his  melancholy  thoughts,  and  she  felt  appalled  and 
silenced  by  the  inexpressible  poignancy  of  his  tones, 
and  the  feverish,  tearless,  broken-heartedness  of  his 
whole  manner.  As  she  took  his  hand,  there  was  a 
noise  in  the  street  below,  and  presently  after,  a  hur_ 
ried  step  was  heard  on  the  stair,  and  Amieri  rushed 
in,  seized  the  rapier  which  hung  over  his  bed  and 
without  observing  Violanta,  was  flying  again  from 
the  apartment. 

"  Biondo  !"  cried  a  voice  which  would  have  stayed 
him  were  next  breath  to  have  been  drawn  in  heaven. 

"  Contessa  Violanta !" 

"  What  is  it  Amieri?  Where  go  you  now  ?" 
asked  Giulio,  gliding  between  him  and  the  door. 
Biondo' s  cheek  and  brow  had  flushed  when  first 
arrested  by  the  voice  of  the  countess,  but  now  he 
stood  silent  and  with  his  eyes  on  the  floor,  pale  as 
the  statue  before  him. 

"  A  quarrel,  Giulio  !'  he  said  at  length. 

"  Biondo !"  The  countess  sprang  to  his  side  with 
the  simple  utterance  of  his  name,  and  laid  her  small 
hand  on  his  arm.  "  You  shall  not  go  !  You  are 


112  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

dear  to  us— dear  to  Guilio,  Signor  Amieri !  If  you 
love  us— if  you  care  for  Giulio— nay,  I  will  say  it— 
if  you  care  for  me,  dear  Biondo,  put  not  your  life  in 

peril." 

"  Lady  !"  said  the  painter,  bowing  his  head  to  his 
wrist,  and  kissing  lightly  the  small  white  fingers 
that  pressed  it,  "  if  I  were  to  lose  my  life  this  hour, 
I  should  bless  with  my  dying  lips  the  occasion  which 
had  drawn  from  you  the  blessed  words  I  hear.  But 
the  more  life  is  valuable  to  me  by  your  regard,  the 
more  need  you  should  not  delay  me.  I  am  waited 
for.  Farewell !" 

Disengaging  himself  from  Viol  anta's  grasp,  quickly 
but  gently,  Amieri  darted  through  the  door,  and  was 
gone. 


CHAP.  111. 

BIONDO  had  readily  found  a  second  in  the  first 
artist  he  met  on  the  Corso,  and  after  a  rapid  walk 
they  turned  on  the  lonely  and  lofty  wall  of  the 
Palatine,  to  look  back  on  the  ruins  of  the  Forum.— 
At  a  fountain  side,  not  far  beyond,  he  had  agreed  to 
find  his  antagonist ;  but  spite  of  the  pressing  business 
of  the  hour,  the  wonderful  and  solemn  beauty  of  the 
ruins  that  lay  steeped  in  moonlight  at  his  feet,  awoke, 
for  an  instant,  all  of  the  painter  in  his  soul. 


VIOLANTA      CESARINI.  US 

«Is  it  not  glorious,  Lenzoni  ?"  he  said,  pointing  with 
his  rapier  to  the  softened  and  tall  columns  that  carried 
their  capitals  among  the  stars. 

"We  have  not  come  out  to  sketch,  Amieri !"  was 
the  reply. 

"  True,  caro !  hut  my  fingers  work  as  if  the  pencil 
was  in  them,  and  I  forget  revenge  while  I  see  what  I 
shall  never  sketch  again!" 

Lenzoni  struck  his  hand  heavily  on  Amieri's 
shoulder,  as  if  to  wake  him  from  a  dream,  and  looked 
close  into  his  face. 

"  If  you  fight  in  this  spirit,  Biondo " 

"  I  shall  fight  with  heart  and  soul,  Lenzoni ;  fear 
me  not !  But  when  I  saw,  just  now,  the  bel' 'ejfetto 
of  the  sharp-drawn  shadows  under  the  arch  of  Con- 
stantine,  and  felt  instinctively  for  my  pencil,  some 
thing  told  me,  at  my  heart's  ear — you  will  never 
trace  line  again,  Amieri !" 

"  Take  heart,  caro  amico  /" 

My  heart  is  ready,  but  my  thoughts  come  fast ! — 
What  were  my  blood,  I  cannot  but  reflect,  added  to 
the  ashes  of  Rome  ?  We  fight  in  the  grave  of  an 
empire  !  But  you  will  not  philosophize,  dull  Lenzoni ! 
Come  on  to  the  fountain !" 

The  moon  shone  soft  on  the  greensward  rim  of 

the  neglected  fountain  that  once  sparkled  through 

the  "  gold  palace"  of  Nero.     The  white  edges  of 

half  buried  marble  peeped  here  and  there  from  the 

10* 


114  ROMANCE     OP     TRAVEL. 

grass,  and  beneath  the  shadow  of  an  ivy-covered  ancf 
tottering  arch,  sang  a  nightingale,  the  triumphant 
possessor  of  life  amid  the  forgotten  ashes  of  the 
Caesars.  Amieri  listened  to  his  song. 

"  You  are  prompt,  signor  !"  said  a  gay-voiced 
gentleman,  turning  the  corner  of  the  ruined  wall,  as 
Biondo,  still  listening  to  the  nightingale,  fed  his  heart 
with  the  last  sweet  words  of  Violanta. 

"  <  Sempre  pronto,9  is  a  good  device,"  answered 
Lenzoni,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  Will  you  fight,  side 
to  the  moon,  signors,  or  shall  we  pull  straws  for  the 
choice  of  light?" 

Amieri's  antagonist  was  a  strongly  made  man  of 
thirty,  costly  in  his  dress,  and  of  that  class  of  features 
eminently  handsome,  yet  eminently  displeasing. — 
The  origin  of  the  quarrel  was  an  insulting  observa 
tion,  coupled  with  the  name  of  the  young  Countess 
Cesarini,  which  Biondo,  who  was  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  a  wall,  watching  her  window  from  the 
Corso,  accidentally  overheard.  A  blow  on  the  mouth 
was  the  first  warning  the  stranger  received  of  a 
listener's  neighbourhood,  and  after  a  momentary 
struggle  they  exchanged  cards,  and  separated  to 
meet  in  an  hour,  with  swords,  at  the  fountain,  on  the 
Palatine. 

Amieri  was  accounted  the  best  foil  in  the  ateliers 
of  Rome,  but  his  antagonist,  the  Count  Lamba 
Malaspina,  had  just  returned  from  a  long  residence 


VIOLANTACESARINI.  115 

in  France,  and  had  the  reputation  of  an  accomplished 
swordsman.  Amieri  was  slighter  in  person,  but  well 
made,  and  agile  as  a  leopard ;  but  when  Lenzoni 
looked  into  the  cool  eye  of  Malaspina,  the  spirit  and 
fire  which  he  wouli  have  relied  upon  to  ensure  his 
friend  success  in  an  ordinary  contest,  made  him 
tremble  nowr. 

Count  Lamba  bowed,  and  they  crossed  swords. 
Amieri  had  read  his  antagonist's  character,  like  his 
friend,  and,  at  the  instant  their  blades  parted,  he 
broke  down  his  guard  with  the  quickness  of  lightning, 
and  wounded  him  in  the  face.  Malapina  smiled  as 
he  crossed  his  rapier  again,  and  in  the  next  moment 
Amieri' s  sword  flew  high  above  his  head,  and  the 
count's  was  at  h's  breast. 

"  Ask  for  your  life,  mio  bravo  /"  he  said,  as  calmly 
as  if  they  had  met  by  chance  in  the  Corso. 

"A'jnorte!  villain  an  I  slanderer  !"  cried  Amieri, 
and  striking  the  sword  from  his  bosom ,  he  aimed  a 
a  blow  at  Malaspina,  which  by  a  backward  move 
ment,  was  recieved  on  the  point  of  the  blade.  Trans 
fixed  through  the  wrist,  Amieri  struggled  in  vain 
against  the  superior  strength  and  coolness  of  his 
antagonist,  and  falling  on  his  knee,  waited  in  silence 
for  his  death-blow.  Malaspina  drew  his  sword 
gently  as  possible  from  the  wound,  and  recommend 
ing  a  tourniquet  to  Lenzom  till  a  surgeon  could  be 
procured,  washed  the  blood  from  his  face  in  the 


116  ROMANCE      OF     1  R  A  V  E  L  . 

fountain,and  descended  into  the  Forum,  humming  the 
air  of  a  new  song. 

Faint  with  loss  of  blood,  and  with  his  left  arm 
around  Lenzoni's  neck,  Biondo  arrived  at  the  sur 
geon's  door. 

"Can  you  save  his  hand?"  was  the  first  eager 
question. 

Amieri  held  up  his  bleeding  wrist  with  difficulty, 
and  the  surgeon  shook  his  head  as  ho  laid  the  helpless 
fingers  in  his  palm.  The  tendon  was  entirely  parted. 

"  I  may  save  the  hand,"  he  s-id,  "but  hewittnever 
use  it  more!" 

Amieri  gave  his  friend  a  look  full  of  anguish,  and 
fell  back  insensible. 

"  Poor  Biondo !"  said  Lenzoni,  as  he  raised  his 
pallid  head  from  the  surgeon's  pillow.  "Death were 
less  misfortune  than  the  loss  of  a  hand  like  thine. — 
The  foreboding  was  too  true,  alas  '  that  thou  never 
wouldst  use  pencil  more  !" 


CHAP.  IV. 

THE  frowning  battlements  of  St.  Angelo  were 
brightened  with  the  glare  of  lamps  across  the  Tiber, 
and  the  dark  breast  of  the  river  was  laced  with  bars 
of  gold  like  the  coat  of  acaptain  of  dragoons.  Here 


VIOLANTA    CESARINI.  117 

and  there  lay  a  boat  in  mid-stream,  and  while  the 
drift  of  the  current  was  counteracted  by  an  occa 
sional  stroke  at  the  oar,  the  boatmen  listened  to  the 
heavenly  strains  of  a  waltz,  dying  and  triumphing 
in  alternate  cadences  upon  the  breath  of  night  and 
the  pope's  band.  A  platform  was  built  out  over  the 
river,  forming  a  continuation  of  the  stage,  the  pit  was 
floored  over,  and  all  draped  like  a  Persian  harem ; 
and  thus  began  a  masquerade  at  the  Teatro  della 
Pergola  at  Rome,  which  stands,  if  you  will  take  the 
trouble  to  remember,  close  by  the  bridge  and  castle 
of  St.  Angelo  upon  the  bank  of  the  "  yellow  Tiber." 

The  entrance  of  the  crowd  to  the  theatre  was  like 
a  procession  intended  to  represent  the  things  of  which 
we  are  commanded,  not  to  make  graven  images,  nor 
to  bow  down  and  worship  them.  There  was  the 
likeness  of  everything  in  heaven  above  and  on  the 
earth  beneath,  and  in  the  waters  under  the  earth. 
There  were  angels,  devils,  serpents,  birds,  beasts, 
fishes  and  fair  women — of  which  none  except  the 
last  occasioned  much  transgression  of  the  com 
mandment.  Oddly  enough,  the  fishes  waltzed — 
and  so  did  the  beasts  and  fair  women,  the  serpents 
and  birds — pairing  ofFas  they  came  \\ithin  sound  of 
the  musick,  with  a  defiance  of  natural  antipathies 
which  would  have  driven  a  naturalist  out  of  his 
senses. 

A  chariot  drove  up  with  the  crest  of  the  Cesarini 


118  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

on  the  pannel,  and  out  of  it  stepped  rather  a  stiff 
figure  dressed  as  a  wandering  palmer,  with  serge 
and  scallop-shells,  followed  by  a  masked  hunchback 
whose  costume,  even  to  the  threadbare  spot  on  the 
ridge  of  his  deformity,  was  approved,  by  the  loungers 
at  the  door,  in  a  general "  bravissimo."  They  entered 
the  dressing-room,  and  the  cloak-keeper  was  not 
surprised  when  the  lump  was  withdrawn  in  the 
shape  of  a  pad  of  wool,  and  by  the  aid  of  a  hood 
and  petticoat  of  black  silk,  the  deformed  was  trans 
formed  into  a  slender  domino,  undistinguished  but 
for  the  grace  and  elasticity  of  her  movements.  The 
attendant  was  surprised,  however,  when  having 
stepped  aside  to  deposite  the  pad  given  in  charge  to 
her,  she  turned  and  saw  the  domino  flitting  from  the 
room,  but  the  hunchback  with  his  threadbare  hump 
still  leaning  on  the  palmer's  arm ! 

"  Santissima  Vergine!"  she  exclaimed,  pulling  out 
her  cross  and  holding  it  between  herself  and  Giulio-, 
"the  Fiend — the  unholy  Fiend !" 

Donna  Bettina  laughed  under  her  palmer's  cowf, 
and  drawing  Giulio's  arm  within  her  own,  they 
mingled  in  the  masquerade. 

The  old  Oount  Cesarini  arrived  a  few  miriutes 
after  in  one  of  the  equipages  of  the  Malaspina, 
accompanied  by  a  red-cross  knight  in  a  magnificent 
armour,  his  sword-hilt  sparkling  with  diamonds,  and 
the  bars  of  his  visor  half  drawn,  yet  showing  a 


VI  OLA  XT  A    CES  ARINX*  119 

beard  of  jetty  and  curling  black,  and  a  mouth  of  the 
most  regular,  yet  unpleasant  beauty.  The  upper 
part  of  his  face  was  quite  concealed,  yet  the  sneer 
on  his  lips  promised  a  cold  and  unfeeling  eye. 

"  As  a  hunchback,  did  you  say,  count  ?" 

"  It  was  her  whim,"  answered  Cesarini.  "  She 
has  given  arms  to  a  poor  sculptor  with  that  deformi 
ty  till  her  brain  is  filled  with  it.  Pray  the  saints  to 
affect  not  your  offspring,  Lamba  !" 

Malaspina  surveyed  himself  in  the  long  mirror  at 
the  entrance  of  the  saloon,  and  smiled  back  incredu 
lously  with  his  white  teeth. 

"I  gave  Bettina  strict  orders  not  to  leave  her  side," 
said  Cesarini.  "  You  will  find  the  old  donna  by  her 
palmer's  dress.  The  saints  speed  your  suit,  Lamba! 
I  will  await  you  in  the  card-room  when  the  dance 
wearies  you !" 

It  was  not  for  some  time  after  the  two  old  nobles 
had  affianced  their  children,  that  Cesarini  had  found 
a  fitting  opportunity  to  break  the  subject  to  his 
daughter.  When  he  did  so,  somewhat  to  his  embar 
rassment,  Violanta  listened  to  it  without  surprise; — 
and  after  hearing  all  he  had  to  say  upon  the  honour 
able  descent,  large  fortune  and  courtly  accomplish 
ments  of  the  young  Count  Lamba,  she  only  permitted 
her  father  to  entertain  any  future  hope  on  the  subject, 
upon  the  condition,  that,  till  she  was  of  age,  her 
proposed  husband  should  not  even  be  presented  to 


120  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

her.  For  this  victory  over  the  most  cherished 
ambition  of  the  old  count,  Violonta  was  indebted 
partly  to  the  Holy  See,  and  partly  to  some  qualities 
in  her  own  character,  of  which  her  father  knew  the 
force.  He  wras  aware  with  what  readiness  the  car 
dinals  would  seize  upon  the  slightest  wish  she  might 
express  to  take  the  veil  and  bring  her  possessions 
into  the  church,  and  he  was  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  the  qualities  of  a  Cesarini,  not  to  drive  one  of 
their  daughters  to  extremity. 

With  some  embarrassment  the  old  count  made  a 
clean  breast  to  Malaspina  and  his  son,  and  was 
exhausting  language  in  regrets,  when  he  was  reliev 
ed  by  an  assurance  from  Lamba  that  the  difficulty 
increased  his  zest  for  the  match,  and  that,  Cesarini's 
permission,  he  would  find  opportunitie  to  encounter 
her  in  her  walks  as  a  stranger,  and  make  his  way 
after  the  romantic  taste  which  he  supposed  was 
alone  at  the  bottom  of  her  refusal.  For  success  in 
this,  Count  Lambo  relied  on  his  personal  beauty  and 
on  that  address  in  the  arts  of  adventure  which  is 
acquired  by  a  residence  in  France. 

Since  his  duel,  Atnieri  had  been  confined  to  his 
bed  with  a  violent  fever,  dangerously  aggravated  by 
the  peculiar  nature  of  his  calamity.  The  love  of 
the  pencil  was  the  breath  of  his  soul,  and  in 
all  his  thoughts  of  Violanta,  it  was  only  as  a  rival 
of  the  lofty  fame  of  painters  who  had  made  them- 


VIOLANTA    CESARINI.  121 

selves  the  companions  of  kings,  that  he  could  ima 
gine  himself  a  claimant  for  her  love.  It,  seemed 
to  him  that  his  nerveless  hand  had  shut  out  heaven's 
intire  light. 

Giulio  had  watched  by  his  friend  with  the  faithful 
fondness  of  a  woman,  and  had  gathered  from  his 
moments  of  delirium,  whatBiondo  had  from  delicacy 
to  Violanta  never  revealed  to  his  second,  Lenzoni — 
the  cause  of  his  quarrel  with  Malaspina.  Touched 
with  this  chivalric  tenderness  toward  his  eioter  the 
kind  Giulio  hung  over  h:m  with  renewed  affection, 
and  when,  in  subsequent  ravings,  the  maimed 
youth  betrayed  the  real  sting  of  his  misfortune — 
the  death  of  his  hopes  of  her  love — the  unambitious 
brother  resolved  in  his  heart  that  if  he  could  aid  him 
by  service  or  sacrifice,  by  influence  with  Violanta, 
or  by  making  the  almost  desperate  attempt  to  esta 
blish  his  own  claims  to  the  name  and  fortunes  of 
Cesarini,  he  would  devote  himself  to  his  service 
heart  and  soul. 

During  the  confinement  of  Amieri  to  his  room,  the 
young  countess  had  of  course,  been  unable  to  visit 
her  brother,  and  as  he  scarce  left  the  patient's  side 
for  a  moment,  their  intercourse  for  two  or  three 
weeks  had  been  entirely  interrupted.  On  the  first 
day  the  convalescent  youth  could  walk  out,  she  had 
stolen  to  the  studio,  and  heard  from  Giulio  the  whole 
history  of  the  duel  and  its  consequences.  When  he 
11 


122  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

had  finished  his  narrative,  Violanta  sat,  for  a  few 
minutes,  lost  in  thought. 

"  Giulio !"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  gaiety  of  tone* 
which  startled  him. 

Violanta !" 

"  Did  you  ever  remark  that  our  voices  are  very 
much  alike  ?" 

"  Biondo  often  says  so." 

"  And  you  have  a  foot  almost  as  small  as  mine/' 

"  I  have  not  the  proportions  of  a  man,  Violanta  !" 

"  Nay,  brother,  but  I  mean  that — that — we  might 
pass  for  each  other,  if  we  were  masked.  Our 
height  is  the  same.  Stand  up,  Giulio  !" 

"  You  would  not  mock  me !"  said  the  melancholy 
youth  with  a  faint  smile,  as  he  rose  and  set  his  bent 
back  beside  the  straight  and  lithe  form  of  his  sister. 

"  Listen  to  me,  amato-bene  /"  she  replied,  sitting 
down  and  drawing  him  upon  her  knee,  after  satisfy 
ing  himself  that  there  was  no  perceptible  difference 
in  their  height.  "  Put  your  arm  about  my  neck,  and 
love  me  while  I  tell  you  of  rny  little  plot." 

Giulio  impressed  a  kiss  upon  the  clear,  alabaster 
forehead  of  the  beautiful  girl,  and  looked  into  her 
face  inquiringly. 

"  There  is  to  be  a  masquerade  at  La  Pergola,'' 
she  said — "  a  superb  masquerade  given  to  some 
prince  !  And  I  am  to  go,  Giulio  mio  /" 

"  Well,"  answered  the  listener,  sadly. 


VIOL.ANTA    CESARINI. 


123 


«  But  do  you  not  seem  surprised  that  I  am  permit 
ted  to  go  !  Shall  I  tell  you  the  reason  why  papa 
gave  me  permission  ?" 

« If  you  will,  \fiolonta!" 

«  A  little  bird  told  me  that  Malaspina  means  to 
be  there !" 

"  And  you  will  go  to  meet  him  ?" 

"  You  shall  go  to  meet  him,   and  I "  she 

hesitated  and  cast  down  the  long  dark  fringes  of  her 
eyes.     "  I  will  meet  Biondo  !" 

"  Giulio  clasped  her  passionately  to  his  heart. 

« I  see !— I  see  !"  he  cried,  springing  upon  his  feet, 
as  he  anticipated  the  remaining  circumstances  of 
the  plot.  "  We  shall  be  two  hunchbacks— they  will 
little  think  that  we  are  two  Cesarini.  Dear,  noble 
Violanta !  you  will  speak  kindly  to  Biondo.  Send 
Bettina  for  the  clothes,  carina  mia!  You  will  get 
twin  masks  in  the  Corso.  And,  Violanta  ?" 

"What,  Giulio?" 

"  Tell  Bettina  to  breathe  no  word  of  our  project 
to  Amieri !  1  will  persuade  him  to  go  but  to  see  you 
dance  !  Poor  Amieri !  Dear,  dear  sister !  Farewell 
now !  He  will  be  returning,  and  you  must  be  gone. 
The  Holy  Virgin  guard  you,  my  Violanta !" 


124  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL, 


CHAP.  V. 

THE  reader  will  long  since  have  been  reminded, 
by  the  trouble  we  have  to  whip  in  and  flog  up  the 
lagging  and  straggling  members  of  our  story,  of  a 
flock  of  sheep  driven  unwillingly  to  market.  In 
deed,  to  stop  at  the  confessional,  (as  you  will  see' 
many  a  shepherd  of  the  Campagna,  on  his  way  to 
Rome,)  this  tale  of  many  tails  should  have  been  a 
novel.  You  have,  in  brief,  what  should  have 
heen  well  elaborated,  embarrassed  with  difficulties, 
relieved  by  digressions,  tipped  with  a,  moral,  and 
bound  in  two  volumes,  with  a  portrait  of  the  author. 
We  are  sacrificed  to  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The 
eighteenth  century  will  be  known  in  hieroglyphics 
by  a  pair  of  shears.  But,  "to  return  to  our  muttons." 

The  masquerade  went  merrily  on,  or,  if  there 
were  more  than  one  heavy  heart  among  those  light 
heels,  it  was  not  known,  as  the  newspapers  say,  "  to 
our  reporter."  One,  there  certainly  was — heavy 
as  Etna  on  the  breast  of  Fnceladus.  Biondo  Amie- 
ri  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  gallery,  with  his  swathed 
hand  laid  before  him,  pale  as  a  new  statue,  and  with 
a  melancholy  in  his  soft  dark  eyes,  which  would  have 
touched  the  executioners  of  St.  Agatha.  Beside 
him  sat  Lenzoni,  who  was  content  to  forego  the 


VIOLANTA    CE3ARINA.     ^  125 

waltz  for  a  while,  and  keep  company  for  pity  with  a 
friend  who  was  too  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  to 
give  him  word  or  look,  but  still  keeping  sharp  watch 
on  the  scene  below,  and  betraying  by  unconscious 
ejaculations  how  great  a  penance  he  had  put  on  him. 
self  for  love  and  charity. 

"JL/i,  la  bella  musica,  Biondo!"  he  exclaimed 
drumming  on  the  banquette,  while  his  friend  held 
up  his  wounded  hand  to  escape  the  jar, "  listen  to  that 
waltz,  that  might  set  fire  to  the  heels  of  St.  Peter. 
Corpo  di  Bacco !  look  at  the  dragon ! — a  dragon 
making  love  to  a  nun,  Amieri !  Ah  !  San  Pietro  ! 
what  a  foot !  Wait  till  I  come,  sweet  goblin !  That 
a  goblin's  tail  should  follow  such  ankles,  Biondo ! 
Eh !  bellissimo  !  the  knight !  Look  at  the  red-cross 
knight.  Amieri !  and — what  ?— il  gobbo,  by  St.  An 
thony  !  and  the  red-cross  takes  him  for  a  woman ! 
It  is  Giulio,  or  there  never  were  two  hunchbacks  so 
wondrous  like !  JEcco,  Biondo  !" 

But  there  was  little  need  to  cry  "look"  to  Amie 
ri,  now.  A  hunchback,  closely  masked,  and  leaning 
on  a  palmer's  arm,  made  his  way  slowly  through 
the  crowd,  and  a  red-cross  knight,  a  figure  gallant 
enough  to  have  made  a  monarch  jealous,  whispered 
with  courteous  and  courtly  deference  in  his  ear. 

"  Cielo !  it  is  she !"   said  Biondo,  with  mournful 
earnestness,  not  heeding  his  companion,  and  laying 
11* 


126  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

his  hand  upon  his  wounded  wrist,  as  if  the  sight  he 
looked  on  gave  it  a  fresher  pang. 

"She?"  answered  Lenzoni,  with  a  laugh.  "If  it 
is  not  he — not  gobbo  Giulio — I'll  eat  that  cross-hiked 
rapier !  What  'she'  should  it  be,  caro  Biondo!" 

"  I  tell  thee,"  said  Amieri,  "  Giulio  is  asleep  at  the 
foot  of  his  marred  statue !  I  left  him  but  now,  he  is 
too  ill  with  his  late  vigils  to  be  here — but  his  clothes* 
I  may  tell  thee,  are  borrowed  by  one  who  wears 
them  as  you  see.  Look  at  the  foot,  Lenzoni !" 

"A  woman,  true  enough,  if  the  shoe  were  all? 
But  I'll  have  a  close  look !  Stay  for  me,  dear  Amie 
ri!  I  will  return  ere  you  have  looked  twice  at 
them!" 

And  happy,  with  all  his  kind  sympathy,  to  find  a 
fair  apology  to  be  free,  Lenzoni  leaped  over  the 
benches  and  mingled  in  the  crowd  below. 

Left  alone,  Biondo  devoured  with  his  eyes,  every 
movement  of  the  group  in  which  he  was  so  deeply 
interested,  and  the  wound  in  his  hand  seerried  burn 
ing  with  a  throb  of  fire,  while  he  tried  in  vain  to  de 
tect,  in  the  manner  of  the  hunchback,  that  coyness 
which  might  show,  even  through  a  mask,  dislike  or 
indifference.  There  was  even,  he  thought,  (and  he 
*  delivered  his  soul  over  to  Apollyon  in  the  usual  phrase- 
for  thinking  such  ill  of  such  an  angel ;)  there  was 
even  in  her  manner  a  levity  and  freedom  of  gesture 
for  which  the  mask  she  wore  should  be  no  apology. 


VIOT,  ANTA    CESAR  INT.  127 

He  was  about  to  curse  Malaspina  for  having  spar 
ed  his  life  at  the  fountain,  when  some  one  jumped 
lightly  over  the  seat,  and  took  a  place  beside  him. 
It  was  a  female  in  a  black  domino,  closely  masked, 
and  through  the  pasteboard  mouth  protruded  the  bit 
of  ivory,  commonly  held  in  the  teeth  by  maskers, 
to  disguise  the  voice. 

"  Good  evening  to  you,  fair  signor  !" 

"  Good  even  to  you,  lady !" 

"I  am  come  to  share  your  melancholy,  signor  !" 

"  I  have  none  to  give  away  unless  you  will  take 
all ;  and  just  now,  my  fair  one,  it  is  rather  anger 
than  sadness.  If  it  please  you,  leave  me  !" 

"  What  if  I  am  more  pleased  to  stay !"" 

"  Briefly,  I  would  be  alone !  I  am  not  of  the  fes- 
ta.  I  but  look  on,  here  !""  And  Biondo  turned  his 
shoulder  to  the  mask,  and  fixed  his  eyes  again  on 
the  hunchback,  who  having  taken  the  knight's  arm, 
was  talking  and  promenading  most  gaily  between 
him  and  the  palmer. 

"  You  have  a  wounded  hand,  signor  !"  resumed 
his  importunate  neighbor. 

"A  useless  one,  lady.     Would  it  were  well!' 

"Signor  Melancholy,  repine  not  against  provi 
dence.  I  that  am  no  witch,  tell  thee  that  thou  wilt 
yet  bless  heaven  that  this  hand  is  disabled." 

Biondo  turned  and  looked  at  the  bold  prophetess, 
but  her  disguise  was  impenetrable. 


128  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"  You  are  a  masker,  lady,  and  talk  at  random  !" 
"  No  !     I  will  tell  you  the  thought  uppermost  in 
your  bosom !" 

"What  is  it?" 

"  A  longing  for  a  pluck  at  the  red-cross,  yonder  !" 

"  True,  by  St.  Mary  !"  said  Biondo,  starting  en 
ergetically  :  "  but  you  read  it  in  my  eyes !" 

"  I  have  told  you  your  first  thought,  signor,  and  I 
will  give  you  a  hint  of  the  second.  Is  there  a  like 
ness  between  a  nymph  on  canvass,  and  a  gobbo  in  a 
mask !" 

"  Giulio !"  exclaimed  Amieri,  turning  suddenly 
round  ;  but  the  straight  back  of  the  domino  met  his 
eye,  and  totally  bewildered,  he  resumed  his  seat, 
and  slowly  perused  the  stranger  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Talk  to  me  as  if  my  mask  were  the  mirror,  of 
your  soul,  Amieri,"  said  the  soft  but  undisguised 
voice.  "  You  need  sympathy  in  this  mood,  and  I  am 
your  good  angel.  Is  your  wrist  painful  to-night  ?" 

"  I  cannot  talk  to  you,"  he  said,  turning  to  resume 
his  observation  on  the  scene  below.  "  If  you  know 
the  face  beneath  the  gobbo's  mask,  you  know  the 
heaven  from  which  I  am  shut  out.  But  I  must  gaze 
on  it  still." 

"  Is  it  a  woman?" 

"  No  !  an  angel." 

"  And  encourages  the  devil  in  the  shape  of  Ma- 
laspina  ?  You  miscall  her,  Amieri !" 


VIOLANTA    CESARINT.  129 

The  answer  was  interrupted  by  Lenzoni,  who  ran 
into  the  gallery,  but  seeing  his  friend  beset  by  a 
mask,  he  gave  him  joy  of  his  good  luck,  and  refus 
ing  to  interrupt  the  tete-a-tete,  disappeared  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Brave,  kind  Lenzoni !"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Are  you  his  good  angel,  too  ?"  asked  Amieri, 
surprised  aga^n  at  the  knowledge  so  mysteriously 
displayed. 

"  No  !  Little  as  you  know  of  me  you  would  not 
be  willing  to  share  me  with  another  !  Say,  Amie 
ri  !  love  you  the  gobbo  on  the  knight's  arm  ?" 

"  You  have  read  me  riddles  less  clear,  my  fair 
incognita  !  I  would  die  at  morn  but  to  say  farewell 
to  her  at  midnight !" 

"  Do  you  despair  of  her  love  ?" 
"  Do  I  despair  of  excelling  Raphael  with  these 
unstrung   fingers  ?      I   never   hoped — but    in   my 
dreams,  lady !" 

"  Then  hope,  waking !  For  as  there  is  truth  in 
heaven,  Violanta  Cesarini  loves  you,  Biondo  !" 

Laying  his  left  hand  sternly  on  the  arm  of  the 
stranger,  Biondo  raised  his  helpless  wrist  and  point 
ed  towards  the  hunchback,  who,  seated  by  the  red- 
cross  night,  played  with  the  diamond  cross  of  his 
sword-hilt,  while  the  palmer  turned  his  back,  as  if 
to-  give  two  lovers  aa  opportunity.. 


130  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

With  a  heart  overwhelmed  with  bitterness,  he 
then  turned  to  the  mocking  incognito.  Violanta  sat 
beside  him ! 

Holding  her  mask  between  her  and  the  crowd 
below,  the  maiden  blush  mounted  to  her  temples, 
and  the  long  sweeping  lashes  dropped  over  her  eyes 
their  veiling  and  silken  fringes.  And  while  the  red- 
cross  knight  still  made  eloquent  love  to  Giulio  in  the 
saloon  of  the  masquerade,  Amieri  and  Violanta,  in 
their  unobserved  retreat,  exchanged  vows,  faint  and 
choked  with  emotion  on  his  part,  but  all  hope,  en 
couragement  and  assurance  on  hers. 


CHAP.   VI. 

"  Will  you  waltz  ?"  said  a  merry- voiced  domino 
to  the  red-cross  knight,  a  few  minutes  after  tapping 
him  smartly  on  the  corslet  with  her  black  fan,  and 
pointing,  for  the  first  step,  a  foot  that  would  have 
tempted  St.  Anthony. 

"  By  the  mass  !"  answered  Malaspina,  "  I  should 
pay  an  ill  compliment  to  the  sweetest  voice  that 
ever  enchanted  human  ear,"  (and  he  bowed  low  to 
Giulio)  "  did  I  refuse  invitation  so  sweetly  toned. 
Yet  my  Milan  armour  is  not  light !" 

"I  have  been  icfusing  his  entreaties  this  hour,'* 
said  Giulio,  as  the  knight  whirled  away  with  Vio- 


VIOL  ANT  A    CES  ARIN  I.  131 

lanta,  "  for  though  I  can  chatter  like  a  woman,  1 
should  dance  like  myself.  He  is  not  unwilling  to 
show  his  grace  to  '  his  lady-mistress !'  Ha  !  ha  ! 
It  is  worth  while  to  sham  the  petticoat  for  once  to 
see  what  fools '  men  are  when  they  would  please  a 
woman  !  But,  close  mask  !  Here  comes  the  Count 
Cesarini!" 

"  How  fares  my  child  ?"  said  the  old  noble,  lean 
ing  over  the  masked  Giulio,  and  touching  with  his 
lips  the  glossy  curl  which  concealed  his  temple. 
"Are  you  amused,  idolo  mio  ?" 

A  sudden  tremour  shot  through  the  frame  of  poor 
Giulio  at  the  first  endearment  ever  addressed  to  his 
ear  by  the  voice  of  a  parent.  The  tears  coursed 
down  under  his  mask,  and  for  all  answer  to  the  ques 
tion,  he  could  only  lay  his  small  soft  hand  in  his 
fathers  and  return  his  pressure  with  irresistible 
strength  and  emotion. 

"  You  are  not  well,  my  child  !"  he  said,  surprised 
at  not  receiving  an  answer,  "  this  ugly  hump 
oppresses  you  !  Come  to  the  air  !  So — lean  on  me, 
caro  tesoro !  We  will  remove  the  hump  presently. 
A  Cesarini  with  a  hump  indeed !  Straighten  your 
self,  my  life,  my  child,  and  you  will  breathe  more 
freely !" 

Thus  entered,  at  one  wound,  daggers  and  balm 
into  the  heart  of  the  deformed  youth ;  and  while 
Bettina,  trembling  in  every  limb,  grew  giddy  with 


132  ROMANCE    OPT  RAVEL. 

fear  as  they  made  their  way  through  the  crowd, 
Giulio,  relieved  by  his  tears,  nerved  himself  with 
a  strong  effort  and  prepared  to  play  out  his  difficult 
part  with  calmness. 

They  threaded  slowly  the  crowded  maze  of 
waltzers,  and,  emerging  from  the  close  saloons, 
stood  at  last  in  the  gallery  overhanging  the  river. 
The  moon  was  rising,  and  touched  with  a  pale  light 
the  dark  face  of  the  Tiber ;  the  music  came  faintly 
out  to  the  night  air,  and  a  fresh  west  wind,  cool  and 
balmy  from  the  verdant  campagna,  breathed  softly 
through  the  lattices. 

Refusing  a  chair,  Giulio  leaned  over  the  balustrade, 
and  the  count  stood  by  his  side  and  encircled  his 
waist  with  his  arm. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this  deformity,  my  Violanta  !"  he 
said,  "  you  look  so  unlike  my  child  with  it ;  I  need 
this  Lttle  hand  to  re-assure  me." 

"  Should  you  know  that  was  my  hand,  father  ?" 
said  Giulio. 

"  Should  I  not !  I  have  told  you  a  thousand  times 
that  the  nails  of  a  Cesarini  were  marked — let  me  see 
you  again — by  the  arch  of  this  rosy  line !  See,  my 
little  Gobbo  !  They  are  like  four  pink  fairy  shells 
of  India  laid  over  rolled  leaves  of  roses.  What  was 
the  poet's  name  who  said  that  of  the  old  Countess 
Giulia  Cesarini — la  bella  Giulia  ?" 

"  Should  you  have  known  my  voice,  father?"  asked 
Giulio,  evading  the  question. 


VIOLANTA    CE8ARINI.  133 

"  Yes  my  darling,  why  ask  me  ?" 

"  But,  father ! — if  I  had  been  stolen  by  brigands 
from  the  cradle — or  you  had  not  seen  me  for  many, 
many  years — and  I  had  met  you  to  night  as  a  gobbo 
and  had  spoken  to  you — only  in  sport — and  had 
called  you  '  father,  dear  father  /'  should  you  have 
known  my  voice  ?  would  you  have  owned  me  for  a 
^Cesarini?" 

"  Instantly,  my  fair  child  !" 

"  But  suppose  my  back  had  been  broken — suppose 
I  were  a  gobbo — a  deformed  hunchback  indeed,  in 
deed — but  had  still  nails  with  a  rosy  arch,  and  the 
same  voice  with  which  I  speak  to  you  now — and 
pressed  your  hand  thus — and  loved  you — would 
you  disown  me,  father  ?" 

Giulio  had  raised  himself  while  he  spoke,  and  ta 
ken  his  hand  from  his  father's  with  a  feeling  that  life 
or  death  would  be  in  his  answer  to  that  question. 

Cesarini  was  disturbed,  and  did  not  reply  for  a 
moment. 

"My  child!"  said  he  at  last  "there  is  that  in 
your  voice  that  would  convince  me  you  are  mine, 
against  all  the  evidence  in  the  universe.  I  cannot 
imagine  the  dreadful  image  yon  have  conjured  up, 
for  the  Cesarini  are  beautiful  and  straight  by  long 
inheritance.  But  if  a  monster  spoke  to  me  thus,  I 
should  love  him  !  Come  to  my  bosom,  my  blessed 
child  !  and  dispel  those  wild  dreams  !  Come,  Vio- 

1  anta !" 

12 


I 
134  ROMANCE    OP    TRAVEL. 

"  Giulio  attempted  to  raise  his  arms  to  his  father's 
neck,  but  the  strength  that  had  sustained  him  so 
well,  began  to  ebb  from  him.  He  uttered  some  in 
distinct  words,  lifted  his  hand  to  his  mask  as  if  to 
remove  it  for  breath,  and  sunk  slowly  to  the  floor. 

"  It  is  your  son,  my  lord  !"  cried  Bettina.  "  Lift 
him,  Count  Cesarini !  Lift  your  child  to  the  air  be 
fore  he  dies !" 

She  tore  off  his  mask  and  disclosed  to  the  thun 
der-stricken  count  the  face  of  the  stranger  !  As  he 
stood  pale  and  aghast,  too  much  confounded  for  ut 
terance  or  action,  the  black  domino  tripped  into  the 
gallery,  followed  by  the  red-cross  knight,  panting 
under  his  armor. 

"  Giulio  !  my  own  Giulio  !"  cried  Violanta,  throw 
ing  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her  pale  and  insen 
sible  brother,  and  covering  his  forehead  and  lips 
with  kisses.  "  Is  he  hurt?  Is  he  dead?  Water! 
for  the  love  of  heaven  !  Will  no  one  bring  water  ?" 
And  tearing  away  her  own  mask,  she  lifted  him 
from  the  ground,  and  totally  regardless  of  the  as 
tonished  group  who  looked  on  in  petrified  silence, 
fanned  and  caressed  him  into  life  and  consciousness. 

"  Come  away,  Violanta  !'  said  her  father  at  last, 
in  a  hoarse  voice. 

*•  Never,  my  father  !  he  is  our  own  blood  !  How 
feel  you  now,  Giulio  ?" 

"  Better,  sweet !  where  is  Biondo  ?" 


VIOLANTA     CESARINI.  135 

"Near  by!  But  you  shall  go  home  with  me. 
Signor  Malaspina,  as  you  hope  for  my  favor,  lend 
my  brother  an  arm.  Bettina,  call  up  the  chariot. 
Nay,  father !  he  goes  home  with  me,  or  I  with  him. 
we  never  part  more  !" 

The  red-cross  knight  gave  Giulio  an  arm,  and 
leaning  on  him  and  Violanta,  the  poor  youth  made 
his  way  to  the  carriage.  Amieri  sat  at  the  door, 
and  received  only  a  look  as  she  passed,  and  helping 
Giulio  tenderly  in,  she  gave  the  order  to  drive  swift 
ly  home,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  entered  toge 
ther  the  palace  of  their  common  inheritance. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  dwell  on  the  incidents 
of  the  sequel,  which  were  detailed  in  the  Diario  di 
Roma,  and  are  known  to  all  the  world.  The  hunch 
back  Count  Cesarini  has  succeeded  his  father  in  his 
title  and  estates,  and  is  beloved  of  all  Rome.  The 
next  heir  to  the  title  is  a  son  (now  two  years  of  age) 
of  the  Countess  Amieri,  who  is  to  take  the  name  of 
Cesarini  on  coming  to  his  majority.  They  live  toge 
ther  in  the  old  palazzo,  and  all  strangers  go  to  see 
their  gallery  of  pictures,  of  which  none  are  bad,  ex 
cept  some  well  intended  but  not  very  felicitously  ex 
ecuted  compositions  by  one  Lenzoni. 

Count  Lamba  Malaspina  is  at  present  in  exile 
having  been  convicted  of  drawing  a  sword  on  a 
disabled  gentleman,  on  his  way  from  a  masquerade 


136  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

at  La  Pergola.  His  seclusion  is  rendered  the  more 
tolerable  by  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  which  were  rudely 
thrust  down  his  throat  by  this  same  Lenzoni  (fated 
to  have  a  finger  in  every  pie)  in  defence  of  the  at 
tacked  party  on  that  occasion.  You  will  hear  Len- 
zoni's  address  (should  you  wish  to  purchase  a  pic 
ture  of  his  painting)  at  the  Caffe  del  Gioco,  opposite 
the  trattoria  of  La,  Bella  Donna  in  the  Corso, 


Dasqttalf,  tfte  bailor  of  &rnfcr. 


13' 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL, 


PASQUALI,  THE  TAILOR  OF  VENICE. 


CHAP.  I. 

GIANNINO  PASCIUALI  was  a  smart  tailor  some  five 
years  ago,  occupying  a  cool  shop  on  one  of  the 
smaller  canals  of  Venice.  Four  pairs  of  suspend 
ers,  a  print  of  the  fashions,  and  a  motley  row  of  the 
gay  colored  trousers  worn  by  the  gondoliers,  orna 
mented  the  window  looking  on  the  dark  alley  in  the 
rear,  and,  attached  to  the  post  of  the  water-gate  on 
the  canal  side,  floated  a  small  black  gondola,  the 
possession  of  which  afforded  the  same  proof  of 
prosperity  of  the  Venetian  tailor  which  is  expressed 
by  a  horse  and  buggy  at  the  door  of  a  snip  in  Lon 
don.  The  place-seeking  traveller,  who,  nez  en  Fair. 
threaded  the  tangled  labarynth  of  alleys  and  bridges 


140  ROMANCE    OP    TRAVEL. 

between  the  Rialto  and  St.  Marc's,  would  scarce 
have  observed  the  humble  shop- window  of  Pasqua 
li,  yet  he  had  a  consequence  on  the  Piazza,  and  the 
lagoon  had  seen  his  triumphs  as  an  amateur  gondo 
lier.  Giannino  was  some  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
his  wife  Fiametta,  whom  he  had  married  for  her 
zecchini,  was  on  the  shady  side  of  fifty. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  Pasquali  had  discovered 
that,  even  with  a  bag  of  sequins  for  eye-water,  Fi 
ametta  was  not  always  the  most  lovely  woman  in 
Venice.  Just  across  the  canal  lived  old  Donna 
Bentoccata,  the  nurse,  whose  daughter  Turturilla 
was  like  the  blonde  in  Titian's  picture  of  the  Mary's; 
and  to  the  charms  of  Turturilla,  even  seen  through 
the  leaden  light  of  poverty,  the  unhappy  Pasquali 
was  far  from  insensible. 

The  festa  of  San  Antonio  arrived  after  a  damp 
week  of  November,  and  though  you  wold  suppose 
the  atmosphere  of  Venice  not  liable  to  any  very 
sensible  increase  of  moisture,  Fiametta,  like  people 
who  live  on  land,  and  who  have  the  rheumatism  as 
a  punishment  for  their  age  and  ugliness,  was  usually 
confined  to  her  b  azero  of  hot  coals  till  it  was  dry 
enough  on  the  Lido  for  the  peacocks  to  walk  abroad. 
On  this  festa,  however,  San  Antonio  being,  as  everv 
one  knows,  the  patron  saint  of  Padua,  the  Padovese 
were  to  come  down  the  Brenta,  as  was  their  cus 
tom,  and  cross  over  the  sea  to  Venice  to  assist  in 


FASQUALI,    THE    TAILOR    OF    VENICE.     141 

the  celebration ;  and  Fiametta  once  more  thought 
Pasquali  loved  her  for  herself  alone  when  he  swore 
by  his  rosary  that  unless  she  accompanied  him  to  the 
festa  in  her  wedding  dress,  he  would  not  turn  an  oar 
in  the  race,  nor  unfasten  his  gondola  from  the  door 
post.  Alas  !  Fiametta  was  married  in  the  summer 
solstice,  and  her  dress  was  permeable  to  the  wind  as 
a  cobweb  or  gossamer,  Is  it  possible  you  could 
have  remembered  that,  oh,  wicked  Pasquali  ? 

It  was  a  day  to  puzzle  a  barometer ;  now  bright, 
now  rainy ;  now  gusty  as  a  corridor  in  a  novel,  and 
now  calm  as  a  lady  after  a  fit  of  tears.  Pasquali 
was  up  early  and  waked  Fiametta  with  a  kiss,  and, 
by  way  of  unusual  tenderness,  or  by  way  of  ensur 
ing  the  wedding  dress,  he  chose  to  play  dressing 
maid,  and  arranged  with  his  own  hands  her  jupon 
and  fezzoktta.  She  emerged  from  her  chamber 
looking  like  a  slice  of  orange-peel  in  a  flower-bed* 
but  smiling  and  nodding,  and  vowing  the  day  warm 
as  April,  and  the  sky  without  a  cloud.  The  widen 
ing  circles  of  an  occasional  drop  of  rain  in  the  ca 
nal  were  nothing  but  the  bubbles  bursting  after  a 
passing  oar,  or  perhaps  the  last  flies  of  summer. 
Pasquali  swore  it  was  weather  to  win  down  a  peri. 

As  Fiametta  stepped  into  the  gondola,  she  glanced 
her  eyes  over  the  way  and  saw  Turturilla,  with  a 
face  as  sorrowful  as  the  first  day  in  Lent,  seated  at 
her  window.  Her  lap  was  full  of  work,  and  it  was 


142  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

quite  evident  that  she  had  not  thought  of  being  at  the 
festa.  Fiametta's  heart  was  already  warm,  and  it 
melted  quite  at  the  view  of  the  poor  girl's  loneliness. 

"  Pasquali  mio !"  she  said,  in  a  deprecating  tone, ' 
as  if  she  were  uncertain  how  the  proposition  would 
be  received,  "I  think  we  could  make  room  for  poor 
Turturilla  !" 

A  gleam  of  pleasure,  unobserved  by  the  confid 
ing  sposa,  tinted  faintly  the  smooth  olive  cheek  of 
Pasquali, 

"  Eh !  diavolo  /"  he  replied,  so  loud  that  the  sor 
rowful  seamstress  heard,  and  hung  down  her  head 
still  lower ;  "  must  you  take  pity  on  every  cheese 
paring  of  a  regczza  who  happens  to  have  no  lover  ! 
Have  reason  !  have  reason  !  The  Gondola  is  nar 
rower  than  your  brave  heart  my  fine  Fiametta  !" 
And  away  he  pushed  from  the  water-steps. 

Turturilla  rose  from  her  work  and  stepped  out 
upon  the  rusty  gratings  of  the  balcony  to  see  them 
depart.  Pasquali  stopped  to  grease  the  notch  of 
his  oar,  and  between  that  and  some  other  embar 
rassments,  the  gondola  was  suffered  to  float  directly 
under  her  window,  The  compliment  to  the  gener 
ous  nature  of  Fiametta,  was,  meantime,  working, 
and  as  she  was  compelled  to  exchange  a  word  or 
two  with  Turturilla  while  her  husband  was  getting 
his  oar  into  the  socket,  it  resulted,  (as  he  thought  it 
very  probable  it  would,)  in  the  good  wife's  renewing 


PASdUAALI,    THE    TAIPOR    OF    VENICE.    143 

her  proposition,  and  making  a  point  of  sending  the 
deserted  girl  for  her  holiday  bonnet.  Pasquali 
swore  through  all  the  saints  and  angels  by  the  time 
she  had  made  herself  ready,  though  she  was  but  five 
minutes  gone  from  the  window,  and  telling  Fiametta 
in  her  ear  that  she  must  consider  it  as  the  purest  obli 
gation,  he  backed  up  to  the  steps  of  old  Donna  Ben. 
toccata,  helped  in  her  daughter  with  a  better  grace 
than  could  have  been  expected,  and  with  one  or  two 
short  and  deep  strokes,  put  forth  into  the  grand  ca 
nal  with  the  velocity  of  a  lance-fly. 

A  gleam  of  sunshine  lay  along  the  bosom  of  the 
broad  silver  sheet,  and  it  was  beautiful  to  see  the 
gondolas  with  their  gay  colored  freights  all  hastening 
in  one  direction,  and  with  swift  track  to  the  festa. 
Far  up  and  down  they  rippled  the  smooth  water, 
here  gliding  out  from  below  a  palace-arch,  there 
from  a  narrow  and  unseen  canal,  the  steel  beaks 
curved  and  flashing,  the  water  glancing  on  the  oar- 
blades,  the  curtains  moving,  and  the  fair  women  of 
Venice  leaning  out  and  touching  hands  as  they  near- 
ed  neighbor  or  acquaintance  in  the  close-pressing 
gondolas.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight,  indeed,  and 
three  of  the  happiest  hearts  in  that  swift  gliding 
company  were  in  Pasquali's  gondola,  though  the 
bliss  of  Fiametta,  I  am  compelled  to  say,  was  en 
tirely  owing  to  the  bandage  with  which  love  is  so 
significantly  painted.  Ah  !  poor  Fiametta ! 


144  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

From  the  Lido,  from  Fusina,  from  under  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  from  all  quarters  of  the  lagoon, 
and  from  all  points  of  the  fl<  >ating  city  of  Venice, 
streamed  the  flying  gondolas  to  the  Giudecca.  The 
narrow  walk  along  the  edge  of  the  long  and  close- 
built  island  was  thronged  with  booths  and  promen- 
aders,  and  the  black  barks  by  hundreds  bumped  their 
steel  noses  against  the  pier  as  the  agitated  water  rose 
and  fell  beneath  them.  The  gondolas  intended  for 
the  race  pulled  slowly  up  and  down,  close  to  the 
shore,  exhibiting  their  fairy-like  forms  and  their  sin 
ewy  and  gaily  dressed  gondoliers  to  the  crowds  on 
land  and  water ;  the  bands  of  music,  attached  to 
different  parties,  played  here  and  there  a  strain ;  the 
criers  of  holy  pictures  and' gingerbread  made  the  air 
vocal  with  their  lisping  and  soft  Venetian ;  and  all 
over  the  scene,  as  if  it  was  the  light  of  the  sky  or 
some  other  light  as  blessed  but  less  common,  shone 
glowing  black  eyes,  black  as  night,  and  sparkling  as 
the  stars  on  night's  darkest  bosom.  He  who  thinks 
lightly  of  Italian  beauty  should  have  seen  the  wo 
men  of  Venice  on  St.  Antonio's  day  '32,  or  on  any 
day  or  at  any  hour  when  their  pulses  are  beating 
high  and  their  eyes  alight — for  they  are  neither  one 
nor  the  other  always.  The  women  of  that  fair 
clime,  to  borrow  the  similie  of  Moore,  are  like  lava- 
streams,  only  bright  when  the  volcano  kindles. 
Their  long  lasnes  cover  lustreless  eves,  and  their 


PASaUALI,  THE  TAILOR  OFVENICE.     145 

blood  shows  dully  through  the  cheek  in  common 
and  listless  hours.  The  calm,  the  passive  tranquil 
lity  in  which  the  delicate  graces  of  colder  climes 
find  their  element  are  to  them  a  torpor  of  the  heart 
when  the  blood  scarce  seems  to  flow.  They  are 
wakeful  only  to  the  energetic,  the  passionate,  the 
joyous  movements  of  the  soul. 

Pasquali  stood  erect  in  the  prow  of  his  gondola, 
and  stole  furtive  glances  at  Turturilla  while  he 
pointed  away  with  his  finger  to  call  off  the  sharp 
eyes  of  Fiametta ;  but  Fiametta  was  happy  and 
unsuspicious.  Only  when  now  and  then  the  wind 
came  up  chilly  from  the  Adriatick,  the  poor  wife 
shivered  and  sat  closer  to  Turturilla,  who  in  her 
plainer  but  thicker  dress,  to  say  nothing  of  younger 
blood,  sat  more  comfortably  on  the  black  cushion 
and  thought  less  about  the  weather.  An  occasional 
drop  of  rain  fell  on  the  nose  of  poor  Fiametta,  but  if 
she  did  not  believe  it  was  the  spray  from  Pasquali's 
oar,  she  at  least  did  her  best  to  believe  so ;  and  the 
perfidious  tailor  swore  by  St.  Anthony  that  the 
clouds  were  as  dry  as  her  eyelashes.  1  never  was 
very  certain  that  Turturilla  was  not  in  the  secret  of 
this  day's  treacheries. 

The  broad  centre  of  the  Giudecca  was  cleared, 
and  the  boats  took  their  places  for  the  race.     Pas 
quali  ranged  his  gondola  with  those  of  the  other 
spectators,  and  telling  Fiametla  in  her  ear  that  he 
13 


146  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

should  sit  on  the  other  side  of  Turturilla  as  a  punish 
ment  for  their  malapropos  invitation,  he  placed  him 
self  on  the  small  remainder  of  the  deep  cushion  on 
the  farthest  side  from  his  now  penitent  spouse,  and 
while  he  complained  almost  rudely  of  the  narrowness 
of  his  seat,  he  made  free  to  hold  on  by  Turturilla's 
waist  which  no  doubt  made  the  poor  girl's  mind 
more  easy  on  the  subject  of  her  intrusion. 

Who  won  and  who  lost  the  race — what  was  the 
device  of  each  flag,  and  what  bets  and  bright  eyes 
changed  owners  by  the  result,  no  personage  of  this 
tale  knew  or  cared,  save  Fiametta.  She  looked 
on  eagerly.  Pasquali  and  Turturilla,  as  the  French 
say  trouvaient  autress  chats  a  frotter. 

After  the  decision  of  the  grand  race,  St.  Antonio 
being  the  protector,  more  particularly  of  the  humble^ 
("  patron  of  pigs"  in  the  saints'  calendar,)  the  seig- 
noria  and  the  grand  people  generally,  pulled  away 
for  St.  Marc's,  leaving  the  crowded  Giudecca  to 
the  people.  Pasquali,  as  was  said  before,  had  some 
renown  as  a  gondolier.  Something  what  would  be 
called  in  other  countries  a  scrub  race,  followed  the 
departure  of  the  winning  boat,  and  several  gondolas, 
holding  each  one  person  only,  took  their  places  for 
the  start.  The  tailor  laid  his  hand  on  his  bosom, 
and,  with  the  smile  that  had  first  stirred  the  heart 
and  the  sequins  of  Fiametta,  begged  her  to  gratify 
his  love  by  acting  as  his  make- weight  while  he  turned 


PASdUALI,THETAlLOROFVENICE.    147 

an  oar  for  the  pig  of  St.  Antonio.  The  prize 
roasted  to  an  appetizing  crisp,  stood  high  on  a  platter 
in  front  of  one  of  the  booths  on  shore,  and  Fiametta 
smacked  her  lips,  overcame  her  tears  with  an  effort, 
and  told  him,  in  accents  as  little  as  possible  like  the 
creak  of  a  dry  oar  in  the  socket,  that  he  might  set 
Turturilla  on  shore. 

A  word  in  her  ear,  as  he  handed  her  over  the 
gunwale,  reconciled  Donna  Bentoccata's  fair  daugh 
ter  to  this  conjugal  partiality,  and  stripping  his  manly 
figure  of  its  upper  disguises,  Pasquali  straightened 
out  his  fine  limbs,  and  drove  his  bark  to  the  line  in  a 
style  that  drew  applause  from  even  his  competitors. 
As  a  mark  of  their  approbation,  they  offered  him  an 
outside  place  where  his  fair  dame  would  be  less 
likely  to  be  spattered  with  the  contending  oars  ;  but 
he  was  too  generous  to  take  advantage  of  this  con 
siderate  offer,  and  crying  out  as  he  took  the  middle, 
"  ben  pronto,  signori  /"  gave  Fiametta  a  confident 
look  and  stood  like  a  hound  in  the  leash. 

Off  they  went  at  the  tap  of  the  drum,  poor  Fia 
metta  holding  her  breath  and  clinging  to  the  sides  of 
the  gondola,  and  Pasquali  developing  skill  and 
muscle — not  for  Fiametta' s  eyes  only.  It  was  a 
short,  sharp  race,  without  jockeying  or  management, 
all  fair  play  and  main  strength,  and  the  tailor  shot 
past  the  end  of  the  Giudecca  a  boat's  length  ahead. 
Much  more  applauded  than  a  king  at  a  coronation 


148  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

or  a  lord -mayor  taking  water  at  London  stairs,  I*e 
slowly  made  his  way  back  to  Turturilla,  and  it  was 
only  when  that  demure  damsel  rather  shrunk  from 
sitting  down  in  two  inches  of  water,  that  he  discover 
ed  how  the  disturbed  element  had  quite  filled  up  the 
hollow  of  the  leather  cushion  and  made  a  peninsula 
of  the  uncomplaining  Fiametta.  She  was  as 
well  watered,  as  a  favourite  plant  in  a  flower- 
garden. 

"  Pasquali  mio !"  she  said  in  an  imploring  tone, 
holding  up  the  skirt  of  her  dress  with  the  tips  of  her 
thumb  and  finger,  "  could  you  just  take  me  home 
while  I  change  my  dress. 

"  One  moment,  Fiametta  cara !  they  are  bringing 

the  pig r 

The  crisp  and   succulent  trophy  was  solemnly 

placed  in  the  prow  of  the  victor's  gondola,  and  pre 
paration  was  made  to  convoy  him  home  with  a 
triumphant  procession.  A  half  hour  before  it  was 
in  order  to  move- — an  hour  in  first  making  the  circuit 
of  the  grand  canal,  and  an  hour  more  in  drinking  a 
glass  and  exchanging  good  wishes  at  the  stairs  of  the 
Rialto,  •  nd  Donna  Fiametta  had  sat  too  long  by  two 
hours  and  a  half  with  scarce  a  dry  thread  on  her 
body.  What  afterwards  befell  will  be  seen  in  the* 
more  melancholy  sequel. 


L  I,.TMI  ETA.ILOROF  VENICE,  149 


CHAP.  II. 

The  hospital  of  St.  Girolamo  is  attached  to  the 
convent  of  that  name,  standing  on  one  of  the  canals 
which  put  forth  on  the  seaward  side  of  Venice.  It 
is  a  long  building,  with  its  low  windows  and  latti  ced 
doors  opening  almost  on  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  the 
wards  for  the  sick  are  large  and  well  aired  ;  but. 
except  when  the  breeze  is  stirring,  impregnated  with 
a  saline  dampness  from  the  canal,  which,  as  Pasquali 
remarked,  was  good  for  the  rheumatism.  It  was-  not 
so  good  for  the  patient. 

The  loving  wife  Fiametta  grew  worse  and  worse 
after  the  fatal  festa,  and  the  fit  of  rheumatism  brought 
on  by  the  slightness  of  her  dress  and  the  spattering  he 
had  given  hsr  in  the  race,  had  increased  by  the  end  of 
the  week,  to  a  rheumatic  fever.  Fiametta  was  old 
and  tough,  however,  and  struggled  manfully  (woman 
as  she  was)  with  the  disease,  but  being  one  night  a 
little  out  of  her  head,  her  loving  husband  took 
occasion  to  shudder  at  the  responsibility  of  taking 
care  of  her,  and  jumping  into  his  gondola,  he  pulled 
across  to  St.  Girolamo  and  bespoke  a  dry  bed  and 
a  sister  of  charity,  and  brought  back  the  pious  father 
Gasparo  and  a  comfortable  litter.  Fiametta  was 
dozing  when  they  arrived,  and  the  kind  hearted 
tailor  willing  to  spare  her  the  pain  of  knowing  that 
13* 


ISO  ROMANCE    OF'  TRAVEL- 

she  was  on  her  way  to  the  hospital  for  the  poor, 
set  out  some  meat  and  wine  for  the  monk,  and  send 
ing  over  for  Turturilla  and  the  nurse  to  mix  the 
salad,  they  sat  and  eat  away  the  hours  till  the  poor 
dame's  brain  should  be  wandering  again. 

Toward  night  the  monk  and  dame  Bentoccata 
were  comfortably  dozing  with  each  other's  support, 
(having  fallen  asleep  at  table.)  and  Pasquali  with  a 
kiss  from  Turturilla,  stole  softly  up  stairs.  Fiametta 
was  muttering  unquietly,  and  working  her  fingers  in. 
the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  on  feeling  her  pulse  he 
found  the  fever  was  at  its  height.  She  took  him, 
besides,  for  the  prize  pig  of  the  festa,  for  he  knew 
her  wits  were  fairly  abroad.  He  crept  down  stairs, 
gave  the  monk  a  strong  cup  of  coffee  to  get  him, 
well  awake,  and,  between  the  four  of  them,  they  got 
poor  Fiametta  into  the  litter,  drew  the  curtains  ten 
derly  around  and  deposited  her  safely  in  the  bottom 
of  the  gondola. 

Lightly  and  smoothly  the  winner  of  the  pig  pulled 
away  with  his  loving  burden,  and  gliding  around  the 
slimy  corners  of  the  palaces,  and  hushing  his  voice 
as  he  cried  out  "right!"  or  "left!"  to  guard  the 
coming  gondoliers  of  his  vicinity,  he  arrived,  like  a 
thought  of  love  to  a  maid's  mind  in  sleep,  at  the  door 
of  St.  Girolamo.  The  abbess  looked  out  and  said, 
' '  benedicite  /"  and  the  monk  stood  firm  on  his  brown 
sandals  to  receive  the  precious  burden  from  the  arms 


PASQUALI, THE  TAILOR  OF  VENICE.    151 

of  Pasquali.  Believing  firmly  that  it  was  equivalent 
to  committing  her  to  the  hand  of  St.  Peter,  and  of 
course  abandoning  all  hope  of  seeing  her  again  ir* 
this  world,  the  soft-hearted  tailor  wiped  his  eye  as 
she  was  lifted  in,  and  receiving  a  promise  from  father 
Gasparo  that  he  would  communicate  faithfully  the 
state  of  her  soul  in  the  last  agony,  he  pulled,  with 
lightened  gondola  and  heart,  back  to  his  widower's 
home  and  Turturilla.' 

For  many  good  reasons,  and  apparent  as  goodf 
it  is  a  rule  in  the  hospital  of  St.  Girolamo,  that  the 
sick  under  its  holy  charge  shall  receive  the  visit  of 
neither  friend  nor  relative.  If  they  recover,  they 
return  to  their  abodes  to  earn  candles  for  the  altar 
of  the  restoring  saint.  If  they  die,  their  clothes  are 
sent  to  their  surviving  friends,  and  this  affecting  me-^ 
morial,  besides  communicating  the  melancholy  news, 
affords  all  the  particulars  and  all  the  consolation  they 
are  supposed  to  require  upon  the  subject  of  their 
loss. 

Waiting  patiently  for  Father  Gasparo  and  his 
bundle,  Pasquali  and  Turturilla  gave  themselves  up 
to  hopes,  which- on  the  tailor's  part,  (we  fear  it  must 
be  admitted,)  augttred  a  quicker  recovery  from  grief 
than  might  be  credited  to  an  elastic  constitution. 
The  fortune  of  poor  Fiametta  was  sufficent  to  war 
rant  Pasquali  in  neglecting  his  shop  to  celebrate  every 
festa  that  the  church  acknowledged,  and  for  tendays 


152"  ROMANCE    OF     TRAVEL. 

subsequent  to  the  committal  of  his  wife  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  St.  Girolamo,  five  days  out  of  seven  was 
the  proportion  of  merry  holidays  with  his  new 
betrothed. 

They  were  sitting  one  evening  in  the  open  piazza 
of  St.  Mark,  in  front  of  the  most  thronged  cafe  of 
that  matchless  square.  The  moon  was  resting  her 
silver  disk  on  the  point  of  the  Campanile,  and  the 
shadows  of  thousands  of  gay  Venetians  fell  on  the 
immense  pavement  below,  clear  and  sharply  drawn 
as  a.  black  cartoon.  The  four  extending  sides  of  the 
square  lay  half  in  shades  half  in  light,  with  their 
innumerable  columns  and  balconies  and  sculptured 
work,  and,  frowning  down  on  all,  in  broken  light  and 
shadow,  stood  the  arabesque  structure  of  St.  Mark's 
itself  dizzying  the  eyes  with  its  mosaicksand  confused 
devices,  and  thrusting  forth  the  heads  of  her  four 
golden-collared  steeds  into  the  moonbeams,  till  they 
looked  on  that  black  relief,  like  the  horses  of  Pluto 
issuing  from  the  gates  of  Hades.  In  the  centre  of 
the  square  stood  a  tall  woman,  singing,  in  rich  con 
tralto,  an  old  song  of  the  better  days  of  Venice  ;  and 
against  one  of  the  pillars,  Polichinello  had  backed 
his  wooden  stage,  and  beat  about  his  puppets  with 
an  energy  worthy  of  old  Dandolo  and  his  helmeted 
galley-men.  To  those  who  wore  not  the  spectacles 
of  grief  or  discontent,  the  square  of  St.  Mark's  that 
night  was  like  some  cozeningtableau.  /never  saw 
anything  so  gay ! 


PASdUALI,THE   TAILOR  OF  VENICE    153 

Every  body  who  ha?  "  swam  in  a  gondola," 
knows  how  the  cafes  of  Venice  thrust  out  their 
checkered  awnings  over  a  portion  of  the  square,  and 
fill  the  shaded  space  below  with  chairs  and  marble 
tables.  In  a  corner  of  the  shadow  thus  afforded,  with 
jce  and  coffee  on  a  small  round  slab  between  them, 
and  the  flat  pavement  of  the  public  promenade  under 
their  feet,  sat  our  two  lovers.  With  neither  hoof  nor 
wheel  to  drown  or  interrupt  their  voices,  (as  in  cities 
whose  streets  are  stones,  not  water,)  they  murmured 
their  hopes  and  wishes  in  the  softest  language  under 
the  sun,  and  with  the  sotto  voce  acquired  by  all  the  in 
habitants  of  this  noiseless  city.  Fiametta  had  taken 
ice  to  cool  her  and  coffee  to  take  off  the  chill  of  her 
ice,  and  a  bicchiere  del  perfetto  amove  to  reconcile 
these  two  antagonists  in  her  digestion,  when  the 
slippers  of  a  monk  glided  by,  and  in  a  moment  the 
recognized  father  Gasparo  made  a  third  in  the 
shadowy  corner.  The  expected  bundle  was  under 
his  arm,  and  he  was  on  his  way  to  Pasquali's  dwel 
ling.  Having  assured  the  disconsolate  tailor  that 
she  had  had  unction  and  wafer  as  became  the  wife 
of  a  citizen  of  Venice  like  himself,  he  took  heart  and 
grew  content  that  she  was  in  heaven.  It  was  a 
better  place,  and  Turturilla  for  so  little  as  a  gold 
ring,  would  supply  her  place  in  his  bosom. 

The  moon  was  but  a  brief  week  older  when  Pas- 
quali  and  Turturilla  stood  in  the  church  of  our  Lady 


154  ROMAN  C'E    OF  TRAVEL. 

of  Grief,  and  father  Gasparo  within  the  palings  of 
the  altar.  She  was  as  fair  a  maid  as  ever  bloomed 
in  the  garden  of  beauty  beloved  of  Titian,  and  the 
tailor  was  nearer  worth  nine  men  to  look  at,  than 
the  fraction  of  a  man  considered  usually  the  expo 
nent  of  his  profession.  Away  mumbled  the  good 
father  upon  the  matrimonial  service,  thinking  of  the 
old  wine  and  rich  pastries  that  were  holding  their 
sweetness  under  cork  and  crust  only  till  he  had 
done  his  ceremony,  and  quicker  by  some  seconds 
than  had  ever  been  achieved  before  by  priest  or 
bishop,  he  arrived  at  the  putting  on  of  the  ring. 
His  hand  was  tremulous,  and  (oh  unlucky  omen !) 
he  dropped  it  within  the  gilden  fence  of  the  chan 
cel.  The  choristers  were  called,  and  father  Gas 
paro  dropped  on  his  knees  to  look  for  it — but  if  the 
devil  had  not  spirited  it  away,  there  was  no  other 
reason  why  that  search  was  in  vain.  Short  of  an 
errand  to  the  goldsmith  on  the  Rialto,  it  was  at  last 
determined  the  wedding  could  not  proceed.  Fa 
ther  Gasparo  went  to  hide  his  impatience  within  the 
restiary,  and  Turturilla  knelt  down  to  pray  against 
the  arts  of  Sathanas.  Before  they  had  settled  sev 
erally  to  their  pious  occupations.  Pasquali  was  half 
way  to  the  Rialto. 

Half  an  hour  elapsed,  and  the^n  instead  of  the 
light  grazing  of  a  swift-sped  gondola  along  the 
church  stairs,  the  splash  of  a  sullen  oar  was  heard, 


PASQUALI, THE  TAILOR  OF  VENICE.    155 

and  Pasquali  stepped  on  shore.  They  had  hasten 
ed  to  the  door  to  receive  him — monk,  choristers 
and  bride — and  to  their  surprise  and  bewilderment, 
he  waited  to  hand  out  a  woman  in  a  strange  dress, 
who  seemed  disposed,  bridegroom  as  he  was,  to 
make  him  wait  her  leisure.  Her  clothes  fitted  her 
ill,  and  she  carried  in  her  hand  a  pair  of  shoes,  it 
was  easy  to  see  were  never  made  for  her.  She 
rose  at  last,  and  as  her  face  became  visible,  down 
dropped  Turturilla  and  the  pious  father,  and  motion 
less  and  aghast  stood  the  simple  Pasquali.  Fiamet- 
ta  stepped  on  shore  ! 

In  broken  words  Pasquali  explained.  He  had 
landed  at  the  stairs  near  the  fish  market,  and 
with  two  leaps  reaching  the  top,  sped  off  past  the 
buttress  in  the  direction  of  the  goldsmith,  when  his 
course  was  arrested  by  encountering  at  full  speed, 
the  person  of  an  old  woman.  Hastily  raising  her 
up,  he  recognized  his  wife,  who,  fully  recovered, 
but  without  a  gondola,  was  threading  the  zig-zag 
alleys  on  foot,  on  her  way  to  her  own  domicil.  Af 
ter  the  first  astonishment  was  over,  her  dress  ex 
plained  the  error  of  the  good  father  and  the  extent 
of  his  own  misfortune.  The  clothes  had  been  hung 
between  the  bed  of  Fiametta  and  that  of  a  smaller 
woman  who  had  been  long  languishing  of  a  con 
sumption.  She  died,  and  Fiameta's  clothes,  brought 
to  the  door  by  mistake  were  recognized  by  father 
Gasparo  and  taken  to  Pasquali. 


1 56  ROMANCE   OF  TRAVEL* 

The  holy  monk,  chop-fallen  and  sad,  took  his  sol 
itary  way  to  the  convent,  but  with  the  first  step  he 
felt  something  slide  into  the  h3el  of  his  sandal.  He 
sat  down  on  the  church  stairs  and  absolved  the  de 
vil  from  theft— it  was  the  lost  ring,  which  had  fall 
en  upon  his  foot  and  saved  Pasquali  the  tailor  from 
the  pains  of  bigamy. 


Efie  itattUit  of  atustrta* 


ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA. 


"Affection  is  a  fire  which  kindleth  as  well  in  the  bram 
ble  as  in  the  oak,  and  catcheth  hoM  where  it  first  lighteth, 
not  where  it  may  best  burn.  Larks  that  mount  in  the  air 
build  their  nests  below  in  the  earth  ;  and  women  that  cast 
their  eyes  upon  kings,  may  place  their  hearts  upon  vassals." 

MARLOWE. 


i 


L'agrement  est  arbitraire  :  la  beaute  est    quelque  chose 
e  plus  reel  et  de  plus  independent  du  gout  et  de  I"1  opinion." 

LA   BRUYERE. 


FAST  and  rebukingly  rang  the  matins  from  the 
towers  of  St.  Etienne,  and,  though  unused  to  wake, 
much  less  to  pray,  at  that  sunrise  hour,  I  felt  a  com. 
punctious  visiting  as,  my  postillion  -cracked  his  whip 
and  flew  past  the  sacred  threshold,  over  which  trip 
ped,  as  if  every  stroke  would  be  the  last,  the  tardy 


160  ROMANCE    O  F  T  R  A  V  E  L  . ' 

yet  light-footed  mass-goers  of  Vienna.  It  was  my 
first  entrance  into  this  Paris  of  Germany,  and  I 
stretched  my  head  from  the  window  to  look  back 
with  delight  upon  the  fretted  gothic  pile,  so  cumbered 
with  ornament,  yet  so  light  and  airy — so  vast  .in  the 
area  it  coverd,  yet  so  crusted  in  every  part  with 
delicate  device  and  sculpture.  On  sped  the  merci 
less  postillion,  and  the  next  moment  we  rattled  into 
the  court-yard  of  the  hotel. 

I  gave  my  keys  to  the  most  faithful  and  intelligent 
of  valets — an  English  boy  of  sixteen,  promoted  from 
white  top-boots  and  a  cabriolet  in  London,  to  a  plain 
coat  and  almost  his  master's  friendship  upon  the 
continent — and  leaving  him  to  find  rooms  to  my 
taste,  make  them  habitable  and  get  breakfast,  I  re 
traced  my  way  to  ramble  a  half  hour  through  the 
aisles  of  St.  Etienne. 

The  lingering  bell  was  still  beating  its  quick  and 
monotonous  call,  and  just  before  me,  followed  close 
ly  by  a  female  domestic,  a  veiled  and  slightly-formV. 
ed  lady  stepped  over  the  threshold  of  the  cathedral, 
and  took  her  way  by  the  least-frequented  aisle  to  the 
altar.  I  gave  a  passing  glance  of  admiration  at  the 
small  ankle  and  dainty  chaussure  betrayed  by  her 
hurried  step ;  but  remembering  with  a  slight  effort 
that  I  had  sought  the  church  with  at  least  some  fee 
ble  intentions  of  religious  worship,  I  crossed  the 
broad  nave  to  the  opposite  side,  and  was  soon  lean- 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  161 

ing  against  a  pillar,  and  listening  to  the  heavenly- 
breathed  music  of  the  voluntary,  with  a  confused, 
but  I  trust,  not  altogether  unprofitable  feeling  of  de 
votion. 

The  peasants,  with  their  baskets  standing  beside 
them  on  the  tesselated  floor,  counted  their  beads  up 
on  their  knees ;  the  murmur,  low-toned  and  univer 
sal,  rose  through  the  vibrations  of  the  anthem  with 
an  accompaniment  upon  which  I  have  always 
thought  the  great  composers  calculated,  no  less  than 
upon  the  echoing  arches,  and  atmosphere  thickened 
with  incense  ;  and  the  deep-throated  priest  muttered 
his  Latin  prayer,  more  edifying  to  me  that  it  left  my 
thoughts  to  their  own  impulses  of  worship,  unde- 
meaned  by  the  irresistible  littleness  of  criticism,  and 
unchecked  by  the  narrow  bounds  of  another's  com 
prehension  of  the  Divinity.  Without  being  in  any 
leaning  of  opinion  a  son  of  the  church  of  Rome,  I 
confess  my  soul  gets  nearer  to  heaven  ;  and  my  re- 

§'ous  tendencies,  dulled  and  diverted  from  improve- 
nt  by  a  life  of  travel  and  excitement,  are  more 
gratefully  ministered  to,  in  the  indistinct  worship  of 
the  catholics.     It  seems  to  me  that  no  man  can  pray 
well  through  the  hesitating  lips  of  another.     The 
inflated  style  or  rhetorical  efforts  of  many,  addres 
sing  heaven  with  difficult  grammar  and  embarrass 
ed  logic — and  the  weary  monotony  of  others,  re 
peating  without  interest   and  apparently  without 
14* 


162  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

thought,  the  most  solemn  appeals  to  the  mercy  of 
the  Almighty — are  imperfect  vehicles,  at  least  ta 
me,  for  a  fresh  and  apprehensive  spirit  of  worship: 
The  religious  architecture  of  the  catholics  favors  the 
solitary  prayer  of  the  heart.  •  The  vast  floor  of  the 
cathedral,  the  far  receding  aisles  with  their  solemn 
light,  to  which  penetrate  only  the  indistinct  murmur 
of  priest  and  penitent,  and  the  affecting  wail  or  tri 
umphant  hallelujah  of  the  choir ;  the  touching  atti 
tudes  and  utter  abandonment  of  all  around  to  their 
unarticulated  devotions  ;  the  freedom  to  enter  and 
depart,  unquestioned  and  unnoticed,  and  the  won 
derful  impressiveness  of  the  lofty  architecture,  clus 
tered  with  mementos  of  death,  and  presenting 
through  every  sense,  some  unobtrusive  persuasion 
to  the  duties  of  the  spot — all  these,  I  cannot  but 
think,  are  aids,  not  unimportant  to  devout  feeling, 
nor  to  the  most  careless  keeper  of  his  creed  and 
conscience,  entirely  without  salutary  use. 

My  eye  had  been  resting  unconsciously  on 
drapery  of  a  statue,  upon  which  the  light  of  a  p 
ed  oriel  window  threw  the  mingled  dyes  of  a  pea 
cock.  It  was  the  figure  of  an  apostle  ;  and  curious 
at  last  to  see  whence  the  colours  came  which  turn 
ed  the  saintly  garb  into  a  mantle  of  shot  silk,  1  stray 
ed  towards  the  eastern  window,  and  was  studying 
the  georgeous  dyes  and  grotesque  drawing  of  an  art 
!ostto  the  world,  when:  I  discovered^  that  I  was  in 


TH  E1  B  AN  D'lT  OF    AUSTRIA.  163? 

the  neighbourhood  of  the  pretty  figure  that  had  trip* 
ped  into  church  so  lightly  before  me.  She  knelt 
near  the  altar,  a  little  forward  from  one  of  the  hea 
vy  gothic  pillars,  with  her  maid  beside  her,  and, 
close  behind  knelt  a  gentleman,  who  I  observed  at 
a  second  glance,  was  paying  his  devotions  exclu 
sively  to  the  small  foot  that  peeped  from  the  edge  of. 
a  snowy  peignoir,  the  dishabille  of  which  was  cover 
ed  and  betrayed  by  a  lace- veil  arid  mantle.  As  1 
stood  thinking  what  a  graceful  study  her  figure 
would  make  for  a  sculptor,  and  what  an  irreligious 
impertinenee  was  visible  in  the  air  of  the  gentleman 
behind,  he  leaned  forward  as  if  to  prostrate  his  face 
upon  the  pavement,  an  I  pressed  his  lips  upon  the 
slender  sole  of  (I  have  no  doubt)  the  prettiest  shoe 
in  Vienna.  The  natural  aversion  which  all  men 
have  for  eaeh  other  as  strangers,  was  quickened  in 
my  bosom  by  a  feeling  much  more  vivid,  and  said 
to  be  quite  as  natural — resentment  at  any  demon- 
tration  by  another  of  preference  for  the  woman  one 
admired.  If  I  have  not  mistaken  human  nature, 
there  is  a  sort  of  imaginary  property  which  every 
man  feels  in  a  woman  he  has  looked  upon  with  even 
the  most  transient  regard,  which  is  violated  malgre 
hi,  by  a  similar  feeling  on  the  part  of  any  other  in 
dividual. 

Not  sure  that  the  gentleman,  who  had  so  sudden 
ly  become  my  enemy^  had  any  warrant  in  the  lady's 


164  ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL. 

connivance  for  his  attentions,  I  retreated  to  the  shel 
ter  of  the  pillar,  and  was  presently  satisfied  that  he 
was  as  much  a  stranger  to  her  as  myself,  and  was 
decidedly  annoying  her.  A  slight  advance  in  her 
position  to  eseape  his  contact  gave  me  the  opportu 
nity  I  wished,  and  stepping  upon  the  small  space  be 
tween  the  skirt  of  her  dress  and  the  outpost  of  his- 
ebony  cane,  I  began  to  study  the  architecture  of  the 
roof  with  great  seriousness.  The  gothic  order,  it  is 
said,  sprang  from  the  first  attempts  at  constructing 
roofs  from  the  branches  of  trees,  and  is  more  per 
fect  as  it  imitates  more  closely  the  natural  wilder 
ness  with  its  tall  tree-shafts  and  interlacing  limbs. 
With  my  eyes  half  shut  I  endeavoured  to  transport 
myself  to  an  American  forest,  and  convert  the 
beams  and  angles  of  this  vast  gothic  structure  into  a 
primitive  temple  of  pines,  with  the  sunshine  coming 
brokingly  through ;  but  the  delusion,  otherwise  easy 
enough,  was  destroyed  by  the  cherubs  roosting  on. 
the  cornices,  and  the  apostles  and  saints  perched  as 
it  were  in  the  branches ;  and,  spite  of  myself, 
thought  it  represented  best  Shylock's  "  wilderness 
of  monkeys." 

"  S'il  vous  plait,  monsieur  /"  said  the  gentleman, 
pulling  me  by  the  pantaloons  as  I  was  losing  myself 
in  these  ill-timed  speculations. 

I  looked  down. 

"  Vous  me  genez,  monsieur  /" 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  165 

"  .7*671  suis  Men  sure,  monsieur  /" — and  I  resumed 
my  study  of  the  roof,  turning  gradually  round  till  my 
heels  were  against  his  knees,  and  backing peu-a-peu. 

It  has  often  occurred  to  me  as  a  defect  in  the  sys 
tem  of  civil  justice,  that  the  time  of  the  day  at  which 
a  crime  is  committed  is  never  taken  into  account  by 
judge  or  jury.  The  humours  of  an  empty  stomach 
act  so  energetically  on  the  judgment  and  temper  of 
a  man,  and  the  same  act  appears  so  differently  to 
him,  fasting  and  full,  that  I  presume  an  inquiry  into 
the  subject  would  prove  that  few  offences  against 
law  and  human  pity  were  ever  perpetrated  by  vil 
lains  who  had  dined.  In  the  adventure  before  us, 
the  best-disposed  reader  will  condemn  my  interfer 
ence  in  a  stranger's  gallantries  as  impertinent  and 
quixotick.  Later  in  the  day,  I  should  as  soon  have 
thought  of  ordering  water-cresses  for  the  gentle 
man's  dindon  aux  truffes. 

I  was  calling  myself  to  account  something  after 
^the  above  fashion,  the  gentleman  in  question  stand 
ing  near  me.  drumming  on  his  boot  with  his  ebony 
cane,  when  the  lady  rose,  threw  her  rosary  over  her 
neck,  and  turning  to  me  with  a  grateful  smile,  cour- 
tesied  slightly  and  disappeared.  I  was  struck  so 
exceedingly  with  the  intense  melancholy  in  the  ex 
pression  of  the  face — an  expression  so.  totally  at 
variance  with  the  elasticity  of  the  step,  and  the  pro 
mise  of  the  slight  and  riante  figure  and  air — that  \ 


166  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

quite  forgot  I  had  drawn  a  quarrel  on  myself,  and 
was  loitering  slowly  toward  the  door  of  the  church,, 
when  the  gentleman  I  had  offended  touched  me  on 
the  arm,  and  in  the  politest  manner  possible  requested 
my  address.  We  exchanged  cards,  and  I  hastened 
home  to  breakfast,  musing  on  the  facility  with  which 
the  current  of  our  daily  life  may  be  thickened.  I 
fancied  1  had  a  new  love  on  my  hands,  and  I  was 
telerably  sure  of  a  quarrel — yet  I  had  been  in  Vienna 
but  fifty-four  minutes  by  Breguet. 

My  breakfast  was  waiting,  and  Percie  had  found 
time  to  turn  a  comb  through  his  brown  curls,  and 
get  the  dust  off  his  gaiters.  He  was  tall  for  his  age, 
and,  (unaware  to  himself,  poor  boy !)  every  word  and 
action  reflected  upon  the  handsome  seamstress  in 
Cranbourne  Alley,  whom  he  called  his  mother — for 
he  showed  blood.  His  father  was  a  gentleman,  or 
there  is  no  truth  in  thorough-breeding.  As  I  looked 
at  him.  a  difficulty  vanished  from  my  mind. 

"  Percie !" 

"Sir!" 

"  Get  into  your  best  suit  of  plain  clothes,  and  if  a 
foreigner  calls  on  me  this  morning,  come  in  and  for 
get  that  you  are  a  valet.  I  have  occasion  to  use  you 
for  a  gentleman." 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  My  pistols  are  clean,  I  presume  ?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 


THE     BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  167 

I  wrote  a  letter  or  two,  read  a  volume  of  "  Ni 
jamais,  ni  toujours"  and  about  noon  a  captain  of 
dragoons  was  announced,  bringing  me  the  expected 
cartel.  Percie  came  in,  treading  gingerly  in  a  pair 
of  tight  French  boots,  but  behaving  exceedingly 
like  a  gentleman,  and  after  a  little  conversation, 
managed  on  his  part  strictly  according  my  instruc 
tions,  he  took  his  cane  and  walked  off  with  his  friend 
of  the  steel  scabbard  to  become  acquainted  with  the 
ground. 

The  gray  of  a  heavenly  summer  morning  was 
brightening  above  the  chimneys  of  the  fair  city  of 
Vienna  as  I  stepped  into  a  caleche,  followed  by  Per 
cie.  With  a  special  passport  (procured  by  the 
politeness  of  my  antagonist)  we  made  our  sortie  at  that 
early  hour  from  the  gates,  and  crossing  the  glacis, 
took  the  road  to  the  banks  of  the  Danube.  It  was 
but  a  mile  from  the  city,  and  the  mist  lay  low  on  the 
face  of  the  troubled  current  of  the  river,  while  the 
towers  and  pinnacles  of  the  silent  capital  cut  the  sky 
in  clear  and  sharp  lines — as  if  tranquillity  and  purity, 
those  immaculate  hand-maidens  of  nature,  had 
tired  of  innocence  and  their  mistress — and  slept  in 
town ! 

I  had  taken  some  coffee  and  broiled  chicken  before 
starting,  and  (removed  thus  from  the  category  of 
the  savage  unbreakfasted)  I  was  in  one  of  those 
moods  of  universal  benevolence,  said  (erroneously) 


168  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

to  be  produced  only  by  a  clean  breast  and  milk  diet. 
I  could  have  wept,  with  Wordsworth,  over  a  violet. 

My  opponent  was  there  with  his  dragoon,  and  Per- 
cie,  cool  and  gentlemanlike,  like  aman  who  "  had  serv 
ed,"  looked  on  at  the  loading  of  the  pistols,  and  gave 
me  mine  with  a  very  firm  hand,  but  with  a  moisture 
and  onxiety  in  his  eye  which  I  have  remembered 
since.  We  were  to  fire  any  time  after  the  counting 
of  three,  and  having  no  malice  against  my  friend, 
whose  impertinence  to  a  lady  was  (really!)  no  business 
of  mine,  I  intended,  of  course,  to  throw  away  my 
fire. 

The  first  word  was  given  and  I  looked  at  my  an 
tagonist,  who,  I  saw  at  a  glance,  had  no  such  gentle 
intentions.  He  was  taking  deliberate  aim,  and  in  the 
four  seconds  that  elapsed  between  the  remaining  two 
words,  I  changed  my  mind  (one  thinks  so  fast  when 
his  leisure  is  limited  !)  at  least  twenty  times  whether 
I  should  fire  at  him  or  no. 

"  Trois  r  pronounced  the  dragoon,  from  a  throat 
like  a  trombone,  and  with  the  last  thought,  up  flew 
my  hand,  and  as  my  pistol  discharged  in  the  air, 
my  friend's  shot  struck  upon  a  large  turquoise  which 
I  wore  on  my  third  finger,  and  drew  a  slight  pencil- 
line  across  my  left  organ  of  causality.  It  was  well 
aimed  for  my  temple,  but  the  ring  had  saved  me. 

Friend  of  those  days,  regretted  and  unforgotten ! 
days  of  the  deepest  sadness  and  heart-heaviness,  yet 


THE  BAN:-; IT  OF  AUSTRIA.  169 

somehow  dearer  in  remembrance  than  all  the  joys 
I  can  recall — there  was  a  talisman  in  thy  parting  gift 
thou  didst  not  think  would  be,  one  day,  my  angel ! 

"  You  will  be  able  to  wear  your  hair  over  the 
scar,  sir  !"  said  Percie,  coming  up  and  putting  his 
finger  on  the  wound. 

"  Monsieur !"  said  the  dragoon,  advancing  to  Per 
cie  after  a  short  conference  with  his  principal,  and 
looking  twice  as  fierce  as  before. 

"  Monsieur !"  said  Percie,  wheeling  short  upon 
him. 

"  My  friend  is  not  satisfied.  He  presumes  that 
monsieur  V Anglais  wishes  to  trifle  with  him." 

"  Then  let  your  friend  take  care  of  himself,"  said  I, 
roused  by  the  unprovoked  murderousness  of  the 
feeling.  Load  the  pistols,  Percie  !  In  my  country," 
I  continued,  turning  to  the  dragoon,  "  a  man  is  dis 
graced  who  fires  twice  upon  an  antagonist  who  has 
spared  him  !  Your  friend  is  a  ruffian,  and  the  con 
sequences  be  on  his  own  hand !" 

We  took  our  places  and  the  first  word  was  given, 
when  a  man  dashed  between  us  on  horseback  at 
top-speed.  The  violence  with  which  he  drew  rein 
brought  his  horse  upon  his  haunches,  and  he  was  on 
his  feet  in  half  a  breath. 

The  idea  that  he  was  an  officer  of  the  police  was 
immediately  dissipated  by  his  step  and  air.  Of  the 
finest  athletic  form  I  had  ever  seen,  agile,  graceful 
15 


170  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

and  dressed  pointedly  well,  there  was  still  an  inde 
finable  something  about  him,  either  above  or  below 
a  gentleman — which,  it  was  difficult  to  say.  His 
features  were  slight,  fair,  and,  except  a  brow  too 
heavy  for  them  and  a  lip  of  singular  and  (I  thought) 
habitual  defiance,  almost  feminine.  His  hair  grew 
long  and  had  been  soigne,  probably  by  more  cares 
sing  fingers  than  his  own,  and  his  rather  silken  mous 
tache  was  glossy  with  some  odorent  oil.  As  he 
approached  me  and  took  my  hand,  with  a  clasp  like 
a  smith's  vice,  I  observed  these  circumstances,  and 
could  have  drawn  his  portrait  without  ever  seeing 
him  again — so  marked  a  man  was  he,  in  every  point 
and  feature. 

His  business  was  soon  explained.  He  was  the 
husband  of  the  lady  my  opponent  had  insulted, 
and  that  pleasant  gentleman  could,  of  course,  make 
no  objection  to  taking  my  place.  I  officiated  as 
temoin  and,  as  they  took  their  positions,  I  anticipated 
for  the  dragoon  and  myself  the  trouble  of  carrying 
them  both  off  the  field.  I  had  a  practical  assurance 
of  my  friend's  pistol,  and  the  stranger  was  not  the 
looking  man  to  miss  a  hair's  breadth  of  his  aim. 

The  word  was  not  fairly  off  my  lips  when  both 
pistols  cracked  like  one  discharge,  and  high  into  the 
air  sprang  my  revengeful  opponent,  and  dropped 
like  a  clod  upon  the  grass.  The  stranger  opened 
his  waistcoat,  thrust  his  fore-finger  into  a  wound  in 


T  H  E  B  A  N  D  I  T  O  F  AU  STRI  A.  171 

his  left  breast,  and  slightly  closing  his  teeth,  pushed 
a  bullet  through,  which  had  been  checked  by  the 
bone  and  lodged  in  the  flesh  near  the  skin.  The 
surgeon  who  had  accompanied  my  unfortunate  an 
tagonist,  left  the  body,  which  he  had  found  beyond 
his  art,  and  readily  gave  his  assistance  to  stanch 
the  blood  of  my  preserver ;  and  jumping  with  the 
latter  into  my  caleche,  I  put  Percieupon  the  stranger's 
horse,  and  we  drove  back  to  Vienna. 

The  market  people  were  crowding  in  at  the  gate, 
the  merry  peasant  girls  glanced  at  us  with  their  blue, 
German  eyes,  the  shopmen  laid  out  their  gay  wares 
to  the  street,  and  the  tide  of  life  ran  on  as  busily  and 
as  gaily,  though  a  drop  had  been  extracted,  within 
scarce  ten  minutes,  from  its  quickest  vein.  I  felt  a 
revulsion  at  my  heart,  and  grew  faint  and  sick.  Is  a 
human  life — is  my  life  worth  anything,  even  a  thought, 
to  my  fellow-creatures?  was  the  bitter  question 
forced  upon  my  soul.  How  icily  and  keenly  the 
unconscious  indifference  of  the  world  penetrates  to 
the  nerve  and  marrow  of  him  who  suddenly  real 
izes  it. 

We  dashed  through  the  kohl-market,  and  driving 
lnto  the  porte-cochere  of  a  dark-looking  house  in  one 
of  the  cross  streets  of  that  quarter,  were  ushered 
into  apartments  of  extraordinary  magnificence. 


172  ROMANCE     OP     TRAVEL. 


CHAP.  11. 

*  What  do  you  want,  Percie?" 

He  was  walking  into  the  room  v^th  all  the  deli 
berate  politeness  of  a  "  gold-stick-in-waiting." 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I  was  asked  to  walk  up, 
and  I  was  not  sure  whether  I  was  still  a  gentleman." 

It  instantly  struck  me  that  it  might  seem  rather 
infra  dig  to  the  chevalier  (my  new  friend  had  thus 
announced  himself)  to  have  had  a  valet  for  a  second, 
and  as  he  immediately  after  entered  the  room,  having 
stepped  below  to  give  orders  about  his  horse,  I  pre 
sented  Percie  as  a  gentleman  and  my  friend,  and 
resumed  my  observation  of  the  singular  apartment 
in  which  I  found  myself. 

The  effect  on  coming  first  in  at  the  door,  was  that 
of  a  small  and  lofty  chapel,  where  the  light  struggled 
in  from  an  unseen  aperture  above  the  altar.  There 
were  two  windows  at  the  farther  extremity,  but  cur 
tained  so  heavily,  and  set  so  deeply  into  the  wall, 
that  I  did  not  at  first  observe  the  six  richly-carpeted 
steps  which  led  up  to  them,  nor  the  luxuriously  cush 
ioned  seats  on  either  side  of  the  casement,  within 
the  niche,  for  those  who  would  mount  thither  for 
fresh  air.  The  walls  were  tapestried,  but  very 


THE      BANDIT    OF     AUSTRIA.  173 

ragged  and  dusty,  and  the  floor,  though  there  were 
several  thicknesses  of  the  heavy-piled,  small,  Tur 
key  carpets  laid  loosely  over  it,  was  irregular  and 
sunken.  The  corners  were  heaped  with  various 
articles  I  could  not  at  first  distinguish.  My  host 
fortunately  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  gratify  my 
curiosity  by  frequent  absences  under  the  housekeep 
er's  apology  (  odd  I  thought  for  a  chevalier)  of 
expediting  breakfast;  and  with  the  aid  of  Percie,  I 
tumbled  his  chatties  about  with  all  necessary  free 
dom. 

"  That,"  said  the  chevalier,  entering,  as  I  turned 
out  the  face  of  a  fresh  coloured  picture  to  the  light, 
"  is  a  capo  d*  opera  of  a  French  artist,  who  painted 
it,  as  you  may  say  by  the  gleam  of  the  dagger." 

"  A  cool  light,  as  a  painter  would  say  !" 

"  He  was  a  cool  fellow,  sir,  and  would  have  han 
dled  a  broad  sword  better  than  a  pencil." 

Percie  stepped  up  while  I  was  examining  the 
exquisite  finish  of  the  picture,  and  asked  very  re 
spectfully  if  the  chevalier  would  give  him  the  par 
ticulars  of  the  story.  It  was  a  full-length  portrait 
of  a  young  and  excessively  beautiful  girl,  of  apa- 
rently  scarce  fifteen,  entirely  nude,  and  lying  upon 
a  black  velvet  couch,  with  one  foot  laid  on  a  broken 
diadem,  and  her  right  hand  pressing  a  wild  rose 
to  her  heart. 

"  It  was  the  fancy,  sir,"  continued  the  chevalier, 
15* 


174  ROMANCE      OF     TRAVEL. 

"  of  a  bold  outlaw,  who  loved  the  only  daughter 
of  a  noble  of  Hungary, 

"Is  this  the  lady  sir?"  asked  Percie,  in  his  politest 
valet  French. 

The  chevalier  hesitated  a  moment  and  looked 
over  his  shoulder  as  if  he  might  be  overheard. 

"  This  is  she — copied  to  the  minutest  shadow  of 
a  hair  !  He  was  a  bold  outlaw,  gentlemen,  and  had 
plucked  the  lady  from  her  father's  castle  with  his 
awn  hand." 

"Against  her  will?"  interrupted  Percie,  rather 
energetically. 

"No !"  scowled  the  chevalier,  as  if  his  lowering 
brows  had  articulated  the  word,  "  by  her  own  will 
and  connivance;  for  she  loved  him." 

Percie  drew  a  long  breath,  and  looked  more  close 
ly  at  the  taper  limbs  and  the  exquisitely-chiselled 
features  of  the  face,  which  was  turned  over  the 
shoulder  with  a  look  of  timid  shame  inimitably  true 
to-  nature. 

"  She  loved  him,"  continued  our  fierce  narrator, 
who,  I  almost  began  to  suspect  was  the  outlaw  him 
self,  by  the  energy  with  which  he  enforced  the  tale, 
"  and  after  a  moonlight  ramble  or  two  with  him  in 
the  forest  of  her  father's  domain,  she  fled  and  be 
came  his  wife.  You  are  admiring  the  hair,  sir  !  It 
is  as  luxuriant  and  glossy  now !" 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  it  is  the  villain  himself !"  said 
Percie  in  an  undertone* 


THE    BANDIT    OF   AUSTRIA.  175 

"  Bref"  continued  the  chevalier,  either  not  under 
standing  English  or  not  heeding  the  interruption,  "an 
adventurous  painter,  one  day  hunting  the  picturesque 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  outlaw's  retreat,  surpris 
ed  this  fair  creature  bathing  in  one  of  the  loneliest 
mountain-streams  in  Hungary.  His  art  appeared  to 
be  his  first  passion,  for  he  hid  himself  in  the  trees 
and  drew  her  as  she  stood  dallying  on  the  margin  of 
the  small  pool  in  which  the  brook  loitered  ;  and  so 
busy  was  h^  with  his  own  work,  or  so  soft  was  the 
mountain  moss  under  its  master's  tread,  that  the 
outlaw  looked,  unperceived  the  while,  over  his 
shoulder,  and  fell  in  love  anew  with  the  admirable 
counterfeit.  She  looked  like  a  naiad,  sir,  new-born 
of  a  dew-drop  and  a  violet." 

I  nodded  an  assent  to  Percie. 

"The  sketch,  excellent  as  it  seemed,  was  still  un 
finished  when  the  painter,  enamoured  as  he  might 
well  be,  of  these  sweet  limbs,  glossy  with  the  shining 
water,  flung  down  his  book  and  sprang  toward  her. 
The  outlaw " 

"Struck  him  to  the  heart?  Oh  heaven!"  said 
Percie,  covering  his  eyes  as  if  he  could  see  the 
murder. 

"No  !  he  was  a  student  of  the  human  soul,  and 
deferred  his  vengeance." 

Percie  looked  up  and  listened,  like  a  man  whose 
wits  were  perfectly  abroad. 


1 76  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"  He  was  not  unwilling  since  her  person  had  been 
seen  irretrievably,  to  know  how  his  shrinking  Imin- 
ild  (this  was  her  name  of  melody)  would  have  es 
caped,  had  she  been  found  alone." 

"  The  painter" — prompted  Percie,  impatient  for 
the  sequel 

"  The  painter  flew  over  rock  and  brake,  and 
sprang  into  the  pool  in  which  she  was  half  immersed  ; 
and  my  brave  girl " 

He  hesitated,  for  he  had  betiayed  himself. 

"  Ay — she  is  mine,  gentlemen ;  and  I  am  Yvain, 
the  outlaw — my  brave  wife,  I  say  with  a  single 
bound,  leaped  to  the  rock  where  her  dress  was  con 
cealed,  seized  a  short  spear  which  she  used  as  a  staff 
in  her  climbing  rambles,  and  struck  it  through  his 
shoulder  as  he  pursued !" 

"  Bravely  done  !"  I  thought  aloud.. 

"  Was  it  not  ?  I  came  up  the  next  moment,  but  the 
spear  stuck  in  his  shoulder,  and  I  could  not  fall  upon 
a  wounded  man.  We  carried  him  to  our  ruined 
castle  in  the  mountains,  and  while  my  Iminild  cured 
her  own  wound,  I  sent  for  his  paints,  and  let  him 
finish  his  bold  beginning  with  a  difference  of  my  own. 
You  see  the  picture." 

"  Was  the  painter's  love  cured  with  his  wound  !" 
I  asked  with  a  smile. 

"  No,  by  St.  Stephen !  He  grew  ten  times  more 
enamoured  as  he  drew.  He  was  as  fierce  as  a 


THE    BANDIT  OP    AUSTRIA.  177 

welk  hawk,  and  as  w'lling  to  quarrel  for  his  prey. 
I  could  have  driven  my  dagger  to  his  heart  a  hun 
dred  times  for  the  mutter  of  his  lips  and  the  flash  of 
his  dark  eyes  as  he  fed  his  gaze  upon  her  :  but  he 
finished  the  picture,  and  I  gave  him  a  fair  field.  He 
chose  the  broadsword,  and  hacked  away  at  me  like 
a  man." 

«  And  the  result"— I  asked. 

"  I  am  here  !"  replied  the  outlaw  significantly. 

Percie  leaped  upon  the  carpeted  steps,  and  pushed 
back  the  window  for  fresh  air ;  and,  for  myself,  I 
scarce  knew  how  to  act  under  the  roof  of  a  man, 
who.  though  he  confessed  himself  an  outlaw  and 
almost  an  assassin,  was  bound  to  me  by  the  ties  of 
our  own  critical  adventure,  and  had  confided  his 
condition  to  me  with  so  ready  a  reliance  on  my 
honour.  In  the  midst  of  my  dilemma,  while  I  was 
pretending  to  occupy  myself  with  examining  a  silver 
mounted  and  peaked  saddle,  which  I  found  behind 
the  picture  in  the  corner,  a  deep  and  unpleasant 
voice  announced  breakfast. 

"  Wolfen  is  rather  a  grim  chamberlain,"  said  the 
chevalier,  bowing  with  the  grace  and  smile  of  the 
softest  courtier,  "  but  he  will  usher  you  to  breakfast 
and  I  am  sure  you  stand  in  need  of  it.  For  myself, 
I  could  eat  worse  meat  than  my  grandfather  with 
this  appetite." 

Percie  gave  me  a  look  of  inquiry  and  uneasiness 


178  ROMANCE    OF   TRAVEL. 

when  he  found  we  were  to  follow  the  rough  domes 
tic  through  the  dark  corridors  of  the  old  house,  and 
through  his  underbred  politeness  of  insisting  on  fol 
lowing  his  host,  I  could  see  that  he  was  unwilling  to 
trust  the  outlaw  with  the  rear ;  but  a  massive  and 
broad  door,  flung  open  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  let 
in  upon  us  presently  the  cool  and  fresh  air  from  a 
northern  exposure,  and,  stepping  forward  quickly  to 
the  threshold,  we  beheld  a  picture  which  changed 
the  current  and  colour  of  our  thoughts. 

In  the  bottom  of  an  excavated  area,  which,  as 
well  as  I  could  judge,  must  be  forty  feet  below  the 
level  of  the  court,  lay  a  small  and  antique  garden, 
brilliant  with  the  most  costly  flowers,  and  cooled  by 
a  fountain  gushing  from  under  the  foot  of  a  nymph  in 
marble.  The  spreading  tops  of  six  alleys  of  lindens 
reaching  to  the  level  of  .the  street,  formed  a  living 
roof  to  the  grot-like  depths  of  the  garden,  and  con 
cealed  it  from  all  view  but  that  of  persons  descend 
ing  like  ourselves  from  the  house  ;  while,  instead  of 
walls  to  shut  in  this  Paradise  in  the  heart  of  a  city, 
sharply-inclined  slopes  of  green-sward  leaned  in 
under  the  branches  of  the  lindens,  and  completed  the 
fairy-like  enclosure  of  shade  and  verdure.  As  we 
descended  the  rose-laden  steps  and  terraces,  I  ob 
served,  that,  of  the  immense  profusion  of  flowers  in- 
the  area  below,  nearly  all  were  costly  exo ticks,  whose 
pots  were  set  in  the  earth,  and  probably  brought 


THEB  A  NDITOF    AUSTRIA.  179 

away  from  the  sunshine  only  when  in  high  bloom  ; 
and  as  we  rounded  the  spreading  basin  of  the  foun 
tain  which  broke  the  perspective  of  the  alley,  a  table, 
which  had  been  concealed  by  the  marble  nymph, 
and  a  skilfully-disposed  array  of  rhododendrons  lay 
just  beneath  our  feet,  while  a  lady,  whose  features 
I  could  not  fail  to  remember,  smiled  up  from  her 
couch  of  crimson  cushions  and  gave  us  a  graceful 
welcome. 

The  same  taste  for  depth  which  had  been  shown 
in  the  room  sunk  below  the  windows,  and  the  garden 
below  the  street,  was  continued  in  the  kind  of  mar 
ble  divan  in  which  we  were  to  breakfast.  Four  steps 
descending  from  the  pavement  of  the  alley  introduc 
ed  us  into  a  circular  excavation,  whose  marble  seats, 
covered  with  cushions  of  crimson  silk,  surrounded  a 
table  laden  with  the  substantial  viands  which  are 
common  to  a  morning  meal  in  Vienna,  and  smoking 
with  coffee,  whose  aroma  (Percie  agreed  with  me) 
exceeded  even  the  tube  roses  in  grateful  sweetness. 
Between  the  cushions  at  our  backs  and  the  pave 
ments  just  above  the  level  of  our  heads,  were  piled  cir 
cles  of  thickly-flowering  geraniums,  which  enclosed 
us  in  rings  of  perfume,  and,  pouring  from  the  cup  of 
a  sculptured  flower,  held  in  the  hand  of  the  nymph 
a  smooth  stream  like  a  silver  rod  supplied  a  channel 
grooved  around  the  centre  of  the  marble  table, 
through  which  the  bright  water,  with  the  impulse  of 


180       m  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

its  descent,  made  a  swift  revolution  and  disappeared. 

It  was  a  scene  to  give  memory  the  lie  if  it  could 
have  recalled  the  bloodshed  of  the  morning.  The 
green  light  flecked  down  through  the  leafy  roof  upon 
the  glittering  and  singing  water ;  a  nightingale  in  a 
recess  of  the  garden,  gurgled  through  his  wires  as  if 
intoxicated  with  the  congenial  twilight  of  his  prison ; 
the  heavy-cupped  flowers  of  the  tropics  nodded  with 
the  rain  ofihe  fountain  spray ;  the  distant  roll  of 
wheels  in  the  neighbouring  streets  came  with  an 
assurance  of  reality  to  this  dream-land,  yet  softened 
by  the  unreverberating  roof  and  an  air  crowded  with 
flowers  and  trembling  with  the  pulsations  of  falling 
water  ;  the  lowering  forehead  of  the  outlaw  cleared 
up  like  a  sky  of  June  after  a. thunder-shower,  and  his 
voice  grew  gentle  and  caressing ;  and  the  delicate 
mistress  of  all  (by  birth,  Countess  Iminild,)  a  crea 
ture  as  slight  as  Psyche,  and  as  white  as  the  lotus, 
whose  flexile  stem  served  her  for  a  bracelet,  wel 
comed  us  with  her  soft  voice  and  humid  eyes,  and 
saddened  by  the  event  of  the  morning,  looked  on  her 
husband  with  a  tenderness  that  would  have  assoiled 
her  of  her  sins  against  delicacy,  I  thought  even  in  the 
mind  of  an  angel. 

"  We  live,  like  truth,  here,  in  the  bottom  of  a  well," 
said  the  countess  to  Percie,  as  she  gave  him  his  cof 
fee  ;  **  how  do  you  like  my  whimsical  abode,  sir?" 

"  I  should  like  anyplace  where  you  were,Miladi !" 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  181 

he  answered,  blushing  and  stealing  his  eyes  across 
at  me,  either  in  doubt  how  far  he  might  presume 
upon  his  new  character,  or  suspecting  that  I  should 
smile  at  his  gallantry. 

The  outlaw  glanced  his  eyes  over  the  curling 
head  of  the  boy,  with  one  of  those  just  perceptible 
smiles  which  developed,  occasionally,  in  great  beau 
ty,  the  gentle  spirit  in  his  bosom ;  and  Iminild,  pleased 
with  the  compliment  or  the  blush,  threw  off  her  pen 
sive  mood,  and  assumed  in  an  instant,  the  coquettish 
air  which  had  attracted  my  notice  as  she  stepped 
before  me  into  the  church  of  St.  Etienne. 

"  You  had  hard  work,"  she  said  to  keep  up  with 
your  long-legged  dragoon  yesterday,  Monsieur 
Percie !" 

"  Miladi  ?"  he  answered,  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  I  was  be  hind  you,  and  my  legs  are  not  much 
longer  than  yours.  How  he  strided  away  with  his 
long  spurs,  to  be  sure  !  Do  you  remember  a  smart 
young  gentleman  with  a  blue  cap  that  walked  past 
you  on  the  glacis  occasionally." 

Ah,  with  laced  boots,  like  a  Hungarian  ?" 

"  I  see  I  am  ever  to  be  known  by  my  foot,"  said 
she,  putting  it  out  upon  the  cushion,  and  turning  it 
about  with  naive  admiration ;  "  that  poor  captain  of 
the  imperial  guard  payed  dearly  for  kissing  it,  holy 
virgin !"  and  she  crossed  herself  and  was  silent  for  a 
moment 

16 


182  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

"  If  I  might  take  the  freedom,  chevalier,"  I  said, 
'•pray  how  came  I  indebted  to  your  assistance 
in  this  affair?" 

"  Iminild  has  partly  explained,"  he  answered. 
u  She  knew,  of  course,  that  a  challenge  would  follow 
your  interference,  and  it  was  very  easy  to  know  that 
an  officer  of  some  sort  would  take  a  message  in  the 
course  of  the  morning  to  Le  Prince  Charles,  the 
only  hotel  frequented  by  the  English  (Fun  certain 
gens. 

I  bowed  to  the  compliment. 

"  Arriving  in  Vienna  late  last  night,  I  found  Iminild 
(who  had  followed  this  gentleman  and  the  dragoon 
unperceived)  in  possession  of  all  the  circumstances  ; 
and,  but  for  oversleeping  myself  this  morning,!  should 
have  saved  your  turquoise,  mon  seigneur 7" 

"  Have  you  lived  here  long,  Miladi  ?"  asked  Per- 
cie,  looking  up  into  her  eyes  with  an  unconscious 
passionateness  which  made  the  Countess  Iminild 
colour  slightly,  and  bite  her  lips  to  retain  an  expres 
sion  of  pleasure. 

"  I  have  not  lived  long,  anywhere,  sir !"  she 
answered  half  archly,  "but  I  played  in  this  garden 
when  not  much  older  than  you  !" 

Percie  looked  confused  and  pulled  up  his  cravat. 

"  This  house  said  the  chevalier,  willing  apparent 
ly  to  spare  the  countess  a  painful  narration,  "  is  the 
property  of  the  old  Count  Ildefert,  my  wife's  father, 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  183 

He  has  long  ceased  to  visit  Vienna,  and  has  left  it,  he 
supposes,  to  a  stranger.  When  Iminild  tires  of  the 
forest,  she  comes  here,  and  I  join  her  if  I  can  find 
time.  I  must  to  the  saddle  to-morrow,  by  St. 
Jacques !" 

The  word  had  scarce  died  on  his  lips  when  the 
door  by  which  we  had  entered  the  garden  was  flung 
open,  and  the  measured  tread  of  gens-d'armes  re 
sounded  in  the  corridor.  The  first  man  who  stood 
out  upon  the  upper  terrace  was  the  dragoon  who 
had  been  second  to  my  opponent. 

"  Traitor  and  villain !"  muttered  the  outlaw  be 
tween  his  teeth,  "  I  thought  I  remembered  you  !  It 
is  that  false  comrade  Berthold,  Iminild !" 

Yvain  had  risen  from  the  table  as  if  but  to  stretch 
his  legs ;  and  drawing  a  pistol  from  his  bosom  he 
cocked  it  as  he  quietly  stepped  up  into  the  garden. 
I  saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was  no  chance  for  his 
escape,  and  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Chevalier  !"  I  said,  "  surrender  and  trust  to  op 
portunity.  It  is  madness  to  resist  here." 

"Yvain  !"  said  Iminild,  in  a  low  voice,  flying  to 
his  side  as  she  comprehended  his  intention,  "  leave 
me  that  vengeance,  and  try  the  parapet.  1,11  kill 
him  before  he  sleeps !  Quick  !  Ah,  heavens !" 

The  dragoon  had  turned  at  that  instant  to  fly,  and 
with  suddenness  of  thought  the  pistol  flashed,  and 
the  traitor  dropped  heavily  on  the  terrace.  Spring- 


184  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

ing  like  a  cat  up  the  slope  of  green  sward,  Yvain 
stood  an  instant  on  the  summit  of  the  wall,  hesitat 
ing  where  to  jump  beyond,  and  in  the  next  moment 
rolled  heavily  back,  stabbed  through  and  through 
with  a  bayonet  from  the  opposite  side. 

The  blood  left  the  lips  and  cheek  of  Iminild  ;  but 
without  a  word  or  a  sign  of  terror,  she  sprang  to 
the  side  of  the  fallen  outlaw  and  lifted  him  up  against 
her  knee.  The  gens-d'armes  rushed  to  the  spot,  but 
the  subaltern  wrho  commanded  them  yielded  instant 
ly  to  my  wish  that  they  should  retire  to  the  skirts 
of  the  garden  ;  and,  sending  Percie  to  the  fountain 
for  water,  we  bathed  the  lips  and  forehead  of  the 
dying  man  and  set  him  against  the  sloping  parapet. 
With  one  hand  grasping  the  dress  of  Iminild  and  fae 
other  clasped  in  mine,  he  struggled  to  speak. 

"  The  cross  !"  he  gasped,  "  the  cross!" 

Iminild  drew  a  silver  crucifix  from  her  bosom. 

"  Swear  on  this,"  he  said,  putting  it  to  my  lips  and 
speaking  with  terrible  energy, "  swear  that  you  will 
protect  her  while  you  live !" 

"  I  swear !" 

He  shut  our  hands  together  convulsively,  gasped 
slightly  as  if  he  would  speak  again,  and,  in  another 
instant  sunk,  relaxed  and  lifeless,  on  the  shoulder  of 
Iminild. 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  185 


CHAP.  III. 

The  fate  and  history  of  Yvain,  the  outlaw,  be 
came,  on  the  following  day,  the  talk  of  Vienna. 
He  had  been  long  known  as  the  daring  horse-stealer 
of  Hungary ;  and,  though  it  was  not  doubted  that 
his  sway  was  exercised  over  plunderers  of  every 
description,  even  pirates  upon  the  high  seas,  his  own 
courage  and  address  were  principally  applied  to  rob 
bery  of  the  well-guarded  steeds  of  the  emperor  and 
his  nobles.  It  was  said  that  there  was  not  a  horse 
in  the  dominions  of  Austria  whose  qualities  and 
breeding  were  not  known  to  him,  nor  one  he  cared 
to  have  which  was  not  in  his  concealed  stables  in 
the  forest.  The  most  incredible  stories  were  told 
of  his  horsemanship.  He  would  so  disguise  the 
animal  on  which  he  rode,  either  by  forcing  him  into 
new  paces  or  by  other  arts  only  known  to  himself, 
that  he  would  make  the  tour  of  the  Glacis  on  the 
emperor's  best  horse,  newly  stolen,  unsuspected 
even  by  the  royal  grooms.  The  roadsters  of  his 
own  troop  were  the  best  steeds  bred  on  the  banks 
of  the  Danube  ;  but,  though  always  in  the  highest 
condition,  they  would  never  have  been  suspected  to 
be  worth  a  florin  till  put  upon  their  mettle.  The 
16* 


186  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

extraordinary  escapes  of  his  band  from  the  vigilant 
and  well-mounted  gens-cFarmes  were  thus  accounted 
for;  and,  in  most  of  the  villages  in  Austria,  the  peo 
ple,  on  some  market-day  or  other,  had  seen  a  body 
of  apparently  ill -mounted  peasants  suddenly  start 
off  with  the  speed  of  lightning  at  the  appearance  of 
gens-d'armes,  and,  flying  over  fence  and  wall,  draw 
a  straight  course  for  the  mountains,  distancing  their 
pursuers  with  the  ease  of  swallows  on  the  wing. 

After  the  death  of  Yvain  in  the  garden,  I  had 
been  forced  with  Percie  into  a  carriage,  standing  in 
the  court,  and  accompanied  by  a  guard,  driven  to 
my  hotel,  where  I  was  given  to  understand  that  I  was 
to  remain  under  arrest  till  further  orders.  A  sen 
tinel  at  the  door  forbade  all  ingress  or  egress  except 
to  the  people  of  the  house  :  a  circumstance  which 
was  only  distressing  to  me,  as  it  precluded  my  inqui 
ries  after  the  Countess  Iminild,  of  whom  common 
rumour,  the  servants  informed  me,  made  not  the 
slightest  mention. 

Four  days  after  this,  on  the  relief  of  the  guard  at 
noon,  a  subaltern  entered  my  room  and  informed 
me  that  I  was  at  liberty.  I  instantly  made  prepara 
tions  to  go  out,  and  was  drawing  on  my  boots  when 
Percie,  who  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  shock 
of  his  arrest,  entered  in  some  alarm,  and  informed 
me  that  one  of  the  royal  grooms  was  in  the  court 
with  a  letter,  which  he  would  deliver  only  into  my 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  187 

own  hands.  He  had  orders  beside,  he  said,  not  to 
leave  his  saddle.  Wondering  what  new  leaf  of  my 
destiny  was  to  turn  over,  I  went  below  and  received 
a  letter,  with  apparently  the  imperial  seal,  from  a 
well-dressed  groom  in  the  livery  of  the  emperor's 
brother,  the  king  of  Hungary,  He  was  mounted  on 
a  compact,  yet  fine-limbed  horse,  and  both  horse 
and  rider  were  as  still  as  if  cut  in  marble. 

I  returned  to  my  room  and  broke  the  seal.  It 
was  a  letter  from  Iminild,  and  the  bold  bearer  was 
an  outlaw  disguised !  She  had  heard  that  I  was  to 
be  released  that  morning,  and  desired  me  to  ride  out 
on  the  road  to  Gratz.  In  a  postscript  she  begged  I 
would  request  Monsieur  Percie  to  accompany  me. 

I  sent  for  horses,  and,  wishing  to  be  left  to  my 
own  thoughts,  ordered  Percie  to  fall  behind,  and 
rode  slowly  out  of  the  southern  gate.  If  the  Coun 
tess  Iminild  were  safe,  1  had  enough  of  the  adven 
ture  for  my  taste.  My  oath  bound  me  to  protect 
this  wild  an  unsexed  woman,  but  farther  intercourse 
with  a  band  of  outlaws,  or  farther  peril  of  my  head 
for  no  reason  that  either  a  court  of  gallantry  or  of  jus 
tice  would  recognize,  was  beyond  my  usual  pro 
gramme  of  pleasant  events.  The  road  was  a  gen 
tle  ascent,  and  with  the  bridle  on  the  neck  of  my 
hack  I  paced  thoughfully  on,  till,  at  a  slight  turn,  we 
stood  at  a  fair  height  above  Vienna. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  city,  sir,"  said  Percie,  riding  up. 


188  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"  How  the  deuce  could  she  have  escaped  1"  said 
I,  thinking  aloud. 

"  Has  she  escaped,  sir  ?  Ah,  thank  heaven !"  ex 
claimed  the  passionate  boy,  the  tears  rushing  to  his 
eyes. 

"  Why,  Percie !"  I  said  with  a  tone  of  surprise 
which  called  a  blush  into  his  face,  "  have  you  really 
found  leisure  to  fall  in  love  amid  all  this  imbroglio  T 

"I  beg  pardon,  my  dear  master !"  he  replied  in  a 
confused  voice,  "  I  scarce  know  what  it  is  to  fall  in 
love  ;  but  I  would  die  for  Miladi  Iminild." 

"Not  at  all  an  impossible  sequel,  my  poor  boy  ! 
But  wheel  about  and  touch  your  hat,  for  here  comes 
some  one  of  the  royal  family !" 

A  horseman  was  approaching  at  an  easy  canter, 
over  the  broad  and  unfenced  plain  of  table-land 
which  overlooks  Vienna  on  the  south,  attended  by 
six  mounted  servants  in  the  white  kerseymere  frocks? 
braided  with  the  two-headed  black  eagle,  which 
distinguish  the  members  of  the  imperial  household. 

The  carriages  on  the  road  stopped  while  he  passed, 
the  foot-passengers  touched  their  caps,  and,  as  he 
came  near,,!  perceived  that  he  was  slight  and  young, 
but  rode  with  a  confidence  and  a  grace  not  often 
attained.  His  horse  had  the  subdued,  half-fiery 
action  of  an  Arab,  and  Percie  nearly  dropped  from 
his  saddle  when  the  young  horseman  suddenly 
drove  in  his  spurs,  and  with  almost  a  single  vault 
stood  motionless  before  us. 


THE     BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  189 

"  Monsieur !" 

'•  Madame  la  Contesse /" 

I  was  uncertain  how  to  receive  her,  and  took  re 
fuge  in  civility.  Whether  she  would  be  overwhelm 
ed  with  the  recollection  of  Yvain's  death,  or  had 
put  away  the  thought  altogether  with  her  masculine 
firmness,  was  a  dilemma  for  which  the  eccentric  con 
tradictions  of  her  character  left  me  no  probable  solu 
tion.  Motioning  with  her  hand  after  saluting  me, 
two  of  the  party  rode  back  and  forward  in  differ 
ent  directions,  as  if  patrolling;  and  giving  a  look 
between  a  tear  and  a  smile  at  Percie,  she  placed 
her  hand  in  mine,  and  shook  off  her  sadness  with  a 
strong  effort. 

"  You  did  not  expect  so  large  a  suite  with  your 
protegee,11  she  said,  rather  gaily,  after  a  moment. 

"  Do  I  understand  that  you  come  now  to  put 
yourself  under  my  protection  !"  I  asked  in  reply. 

"  Soon,  but  not  now,  nor  here.  I  have  a  hundred 
men  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Semering,  whose  future 
iate,  in  some  important  respects,  none  can  decide 
but  myself.  Yvain  was  always  prepared  for  this, 
and  everything  is  en  train.  I  come  now  but  to  ap 
point  a  place  of  meeting*  Quick !  my  patrole 
comes  in,  and  some  one  approaches  whom  we  must 
fly.  Can  you  await  me  at  Gratz  ?" 

"  I  can  and  will !" 

She  put  her  slight  hand  to  my  lips,  waved  a  kiss 


190  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

at  Percie,  and  away  with  the  speed  of  wind,  flew  her 
swift  Arab  over  the  plain,  followed  by  the  six  horse 
men,  every  one  of  whom  seemed  part  of  the  animal 
that  carried  him — he  rode  so  admirably. 

The  slight  figure  of  Iminild  in  the  close  fitting 
dress  of  a  Hungarian  page,  her  jacket  open  and  her 
beautiful  limbs  perfectly  defined,  silver  fringes  at 
her  ankles  and  waist,  and  a  row  of  silver  buttons 
gallonne  down  to  the  instep,  her  bright,  flashing  eyes, 
her  short  curls  escaping  from  her  cap  and  tangled 
over  her  left  temple,  with  the  gold  tassel,  dirk  and 
pistol  at  her  belt  and  spurs  upon  her  heels — it  was 
an  apparition  I  had  scarce  time  to  realize,  but  it  seem 
ed  painted  on  my  eyes.  The  cloud  of  dust  which 
followed  their  rapid  flight  faded  away  as  I  watched 
it,  but  I  saw  her  still., 

"  Shall  I  ride  back  and  order  post-horses,  sir !" 
asked  Percie  standing  up  in  his  stirrups. 

"  No  ;  but  you  may  order  dinner  at  six.  And 
Percie, !"  he  was  riding  away  with  a  gloomy  air ; 
"  you  may  go  to  the  police  and  get  our  passports 
for  Venice." 

"  By  the  way  of  Gratz,  sir!" 

"  Yes,  simpleton !" 

There  is  a  difference  between  sixteen  and  twenty- 
six,  I  thought  to  myself,  as  the  handsome  boy 
flogged  his  horse  into  a  gallop.  The  time  is 
gone  when  I  could  love  without  reason.  Yet  I 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  191 

remember  when  a  feather,  stuck  jauntily  into  a  bon 
net,  would  have  made  any  woman  a  princess ;  and 
in  those  days  heaven  help  us  !  I  should  have  loved 
this  woman  more  for  her  galliardize  than  ten  times 
a  prettier  one  with  all  the  virtues  of  Dorcas.  For 
which  of  my  sins  am  I  made  guardian  to  a  robber's 
wife,  I  wonder ! 


The  heavy  German  postillions,  with  their  cocked 
hats  and  yellow  coats,  got  us  over  the  ground  after 
a  manner,  and  toward  the  sunset  of  a  summer's 
evening  the  tall  castle  of  Gratz,  perched  on  a 
pinnacle  of  rock  in  the  centre  of  a  vast  plain,  stood 
up  boldly  against  the  reddening-  sky.  The  rich 
fields  of  Styria  were  ripening  to  an  early  harvest, 
the  people  sat  at  their  doors  with  the  look  of  house 
hold  happiness  for  which  the  inhabitants  of  these 
"  despotic  countries"  are  so  remarkable ;  and  now 
and  then  on  the  road  the  rattling  of  steel  scabbards 
drew  my  attention  from  a  book  or  a  reverie,  and  the 
mounted  troops,  so  perpetually  seen  on  the  broad 
roads  of  Austria,  lingered  slowly  past  with  their 
dust  and  baggage-trains. 

It  had  been  a  long  summer's  day,  and,  contrary  to 
my  usual  practice,  I  had  not  mounted,  even  for  half  a 
post,  to  Percie's  side  in  the  rumble.  Out  of  humour 


192  ROMANCEOF     TRAVEL. 

with  fate  for  having  drawn  me  into  very  embaras- 
sing  circumstances — out  of  humour  with  myself  for 
the  quixotic  step  which  had  first  broughtiton  me — 
and  a  little  out  of  humour  with  Percie,  (perhaps  from 
an  unacknowledged  jealously  of  Iminild's  marked 
preference  for  the  varied)  I  left  him  to  toast  alone 
in  the  sun,  while  I  tried  to  forget  him  and  myself  in 
" Le  Marquis  de  Pontanges"  What  a  very  cle 
ver  book  it  is,  by  the  way  ! 

The  pompous  sergeant  of  the  guard  performed 
his  office  upon  my  passport  at  the  gate — giving  me 
at  least  a  kreutzer  worth  of  his  majesty's  black  sand 
in  exchange  for  my  florin  and  my  English  curse ; 
(I  said  before  I  was  out  of  temper,  and  he  was  half 
an  hour  writing  his  abominable  name,)  and  leaving 
my  carriage  and  Percie  to  find  their  way  together 
to  the  hotel,  I  dismounted  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  street 
and  made  my  way  to  the  battlements  of  the  castle, 
in  search  of  scenery  and  equanimity. 

Ah !  what  a  glorious  landscape !  The  precipitous 
rock  on  which  the  old  fortress  is  built  seems  drop 
ped  by  the  Titans  in  the  midst  of  a  plain,  extending 
miles  in  every  direction,  with  scarce  another  peb 
ble.  Close  at  it?  base  run  the  populous  streets, 
coiling  about  it  like  serpents  around  a  pyramid,  and 
away  from  the  walls  of  the  city  spread  the  broad 
fields,  laden,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  with  tribute 
for  the  emperor  !  The  tall  castle,  with  its  armed 
crest,  looks  down  among  the  reapers. 


THE     BANDIT     OF     AUSTRIA.  193 

"  You  have  not  lost  your  friend  and  lover,  yet  yon 
are  melancholy  !"  said  a  voice  behind  me,  that  1 
was  scarce  startled  to  hear. 

"  Is  it  you,  Iminild  1" 

"  Scarce  the  same — for  Iminild  was  never  before 
so  sad.  It  is  something  in  the  sunset.  Come  away 
while  the  woman  keeps  down  in  me,  and  let  us 
stroll  through  the  Plaza,  where  the  band  is  playing. 
Do  you  love  military  music?" 

I  looked  at  the  costume  and  figure  of  the  extra 
ordinary  creature  before  I  ventured  with  her  on  a 
public  promenade.  She  was  dressed  like  one  of 
the  travelling  apprentices  of  Germany,  with  cap 
and  bleuzer,  arii  had  assumed  the  air  of  the  craft 
with  a  success  absolutely  beyond  detection.  I  gave 
her  my  arm  and  we  sauntered  through  the  crowd, 
listening  to  the  thrilling  music  of  one  of  the  finest 
bands  in  Germany.  The  priviliged  character  and 
free  manners  of  the  wandering  craftsmen  whose 
dress  she  had  adopted,  I  was  well  aware,  recon 
ciled,  in  the  eyes  of  the  inhabitants,  the  marked 
contrast  betwen  our  conditions  in  life.  They  would 
simply  have  said,  if  they  had  made  a  remark  at  all, 
that  the  Englishman  was  bon  enfant  and  the  crafts 
man  bon  camarade. 

"  You  had  better  look  at  me,  messieurs  !"  said  the 
dusty  apprentice,  as  two  officers  of  the  regiment 
passed  and  gave  me  the  usual  strangers'  stare;  "  I 

17 


194  ROMANCE    OPTRAVEL. 

am  better  worth  your  while  by  exactly  five  thou 
sand  florins." 

"  And  pray  how  ?"  I  asked. 

"  That  price  is  set  on  my  head !" 

"  Heavens  !  and  you  walk  here  !" 

"  They  kept  you  longer  than  usual  with  your  pass 
port,  I  presume?" 

"  At  the  gate  ?  yes." 

"  I  came  in  with  my  pack  at  the  time.  They  have 
orders  to  examine  all  travellers  and  passports  with 
unusual  care,  these  sharp  officials  !  But  I  shall  get 
out  as  easily  as  I  got  in!" 

"  My  dear  countess  !"  I  said,  in  a  tone  of  serious 
remonstrance,  t"  do  not  trifle  with  the  vigilance  of 
the  best  police  in  Europe  !  I  am  your  guardian,  and 
you  owe  my  advice  some  respect.  Come  away 
from  the  square  and  let  us  talk  of  it  in  earnest." 

"Wise  seignior!  suffer  me  to  remind  you  how 
deftly  I  slipped  through  the  fingers  of  these  gentry 
after  our  tragedy  in  Vienna,  and  pay  my  opinion  some 
respect !  It  was  my  vanity  that  brought  me,  with 
my  lackeys,  to  meet  you  a  la  prince  royale  so  near 
Vienna;  and  hence  this  alarm  in  the  police,  for  I  was 
seen  and  suspected.  I  have  shown  myself  to  you 
in  my  favourite  character,  however,  and  have  done 
with  rash  measures.  You  shall  see  me  on  the  road 
to-morrow,  safe  as  the  heart  in  your  bosom. 
Where  is  Monsieur  Percie !" 


THE    BANDIT     OF     AUSTRIA.  195 

"At  the  hotel.     But  stay!  can  I  trust  you  with 
yourself?" 

"  Yes,  and  dull  company,  too  !  A  revoir  /" 
And  whistling  the  popular  air  of  the  craft  she  had 
assumed,  the  Countess  Iminild  struck  her  long  staff 
on  the  pavement,  and  with  the  gait  of  a  tired  and 
habitual  pedestrian,  disappeared  by  a  narrow  street 
leading  under  the  precipitory  battlements  of  the  cas 
tle. 

Percie  made  his  appearance  with  a  cup  of  coffee 
the  following  morning,  and,  with  the  intention  of  post, 
ing  a  couple  of  leagues  to  breakfast,  I  hurried  through 
my  toilet  and  was  in  my  carriage  an  hour  after  sun 
rise.  The  postillion  was  in  his  saddle  and  only  wai 
ted  for  Percie,  who,  upon  enquiry,  was  nowhere  to 
be  found.  I  sat  fifteen  minutes,  and  just  as  I  was 
beginning  to  be  alarmed  he  ran  into  the  large  court  of 
the  hotel,  and,  crying  out  to  the  postillions  that  all 
was  right,  jumped  into  his  place  with  an  agility, 
it  struck  me,  very  unlike  his  usual  gentlemanlike 
deliberation.  Determining  to  take  advantage  of  the 
first  up-hill  to  catechize  him  upon  his  matutinal 
rambles,  I  read  the  signs  along  the  street  till  we 

pulled  up  at  the  gate. 

Iminild's   communication  had   prepared   me  for 

unusual  delay  with  my  passport,  and  I  was  not 
surprised  when  the  officer,  in  returning  it  to  me. 


196  ROMANCE   OF    TRAVEL. 

requested  me  as  a  matter  of  form,  to  declare,  upon 
my  honour,  that  the  servant  behind  my  carriage  was 
an  Englishman,  and  the  person  mentioned  in  my 
passport. 

"  Foi  d'honneur,  monsieur,"  I  said,  placing  my 
hand  politely  on  my  heart,  and  off  trotted  the  postil 
lion,  while  the  captain  of  the  gaurd,  flattered  with 
my  civility,  touched  his  foraging-cap,  and  sent  me 
a  German  blessing  through  his  mustache. 

It  was  a  divine  morning,  and  the  fresh  and  dewy" 
air  took  me  back  many  a  year,'  to  the  days  when  I 
was  more  familiar  with  the  hour.  We  had  a  long 
trajet  across  the  plain,  and  unlooping  an  antivibration 
tablet,  for  the  invention  of  which  my  ingenuity  took 
great  credit  to  itself,  (suspended  on  caoutchouc  cords 
from  the  roof  of  the  carriage — and  deserving  of  a 
patent  I  trust  you  will  allow !)  I  let  off  my  poetical 
vein  in  the  following  beginning  to  what  might  have 
turned  out,  but  for  the  interruption,  a  very  edifying 
copy  of  verses : 

Ye  are  not  what  ye  were  to  me, 
Oh  waning  night  and  morning  star! 

Though  silent  still  your  watches  flee — 
Though  hang  yon  lamp  in  heaven  as  far — 

Though  live  the  thoughts  ye  fed  of  yore — 

I'm  thine,  oh  starry  dawn  no  more! 


THE     BANDIT     OF     AUSTRIA.  197 

Yet  to  that  dew-pearl'd  hour  alone 

I  was  not  folly's  blindest  child; 
It  came  when  wearied  mirth  had  flown, 

And  sleep  was  on  the  gay  and  wild ; 
And  wakeful  with  repentant  pain, 

I  lay  amid  its  lap  of  flowers, 
And  with  a  truant's  earnest  brain 

Turned  back  the  leaves  of  wasted  hours. 
The  angels  that  by  day  would  flee, 
Returned,  oh  morning  star !  with  thee ! 

Yet  now  again *       *       * 


* 


A  foot  thrust  into  my  carriage- window  rudely 
broke  the  thread  of  these  delicate  musings.  The 
postillion  was  on  a  walk,  and  before  I  could  get  my 
wits  back  from  their  wool-gathering,  the  Countess 
Iminild,  in  Percie's  clothes,  sat  laughing  on  the 
cushion  beside  me. 

"  On  what  bird's  back  has  your  ladyship  descended 
from  the  clouds  ?"  I  asked  with  unfeigned  astonish 
ment. 

"  The  same  bird  has  brought  us  both  down — c'est 
a  dire,  if  you  are  not  still  en  Fair"  she  added,  look 
ing  from  my  scrawled  tablets  to  my  perplexed  face. 

"  Are  you  really  and  really  the  Countess  Iminild?" 
I  asked  with  a  smile,  looking  down  at  the  trowsered 
feet  and  loose-fitting  boots  of  the  pseudo-valet. 
17* 


ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  but  I  leave  it  to  you  to  swear, 
'/oi  d'honneurj  that  a  born  countess  is  an  English 
valet !"  And  she  laughed  so  long  and  merrily  that 
the  postillion  looked  over  his  yellow  epaulettes  in 
astonishment. 

"  Kind,  generous  Percie  !"  she  said,  changing  her 
tone  presently  to  one  of  great  feeling,  I  would  scarce 
believe  him  last  night  when  he  informed  me,  as  as  in 
ducement  to  leave  him  behind,  that  he  was  only  a  ser 
vant  !  You  never  told  me  this.  But  he  is  a  gentle 
man,  in  every  feeling  as  well  as  in  every  feature, 
and,  by  heavens  !  he  shall  be  a  menial  no  longer !" 

This  speech,  begun  with  much  tenderness,  rose, 
toward  the  close,  to  the  violence  of  passion  ;  and 
folding  her  arms  with  an  air  of  defiance,  the  lady- 
outlaw  threw  herself  back  in  the  carriage. 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  I  said,  after  a  short  silence, 
"  that  Percie  should  set  up  for  a  gentleman.  Nature 
has  certainly  done  her  part  to  make  him  one ;  but 
till  you  can  give  him  means  and  education,  the  coat 
which  you  wear,  with  such  a  grace,  is  his  safest  shell. 
'  Ants  live  safely  till  they  have  gotten  wings,'  says 
the  old  proverb." 

The  blowing  of  the  postillion's  horn  interrupted 
the  argument,  and,  a  moment  after,  we  were  rolled 
up,  with  German  leisure,  to  the  door  of  the  small  inn 
where  I  had  designed  to  breakfast.  Thinking  it 
probable  that  the  people  of  the  house,  in  so  small  a 


THE    BANDIT    OF     AUSTRIA.  199 

village,  would  be  too  simple  to  make  any  dangerous 
comments  upon  our  appearance,  I  politely  handed  the 
countess  out  of  the  carriage,  and  ordered  plates  for 
two. 

"  It  is  scarce  worth  while,"  she  said,  as  she  heard 
the  order,  "  for  I  shall  remain  at  the  door  on  the 
look  out.  The  eil-wa^gen,  for  Trieste,  which 
was  to  leave  Gratz  an  hour  after  us,  will  be  soon 
here,  and,  (if  my  friends  have  served  me  well,)  Per- 
cie  in  it.  St.  Mary  speed  him  safely  !" 

She  stode  away  to  a  small  hillock  to  look  out  for 
the  lumbering  diligence,  with  a  gait  that  was  no 
stranger  to,  "  doublet  and  hose."  It  soon  came  on 
with  its  usual  tempest  of  whip-cracking  and  bugle- 
blasts,  and  nearly  overturning  a  fat  burgher,  who 
would  have  profferred  the  assistance  of  his  hand, 
out  jumped  a  petticoat,  which,  I  saw.  at  a  glance, 
gave  a  very  embarrassed  motion  to  gentleman 
Percie. 

"  This  young  lady,"  said  the  countess,  dragging 
the  striding  and  unwilling  damsel  into  the  little  par 
lour  where  I  was  breakfasting  "  travels  under  the 
charge  of  a  deaf  old  brazier,  who  has  been  requested 
to  protect  her  modesty  as  far  as  Laybach.  Make 
a  curtsy,  child !" 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir  !"  began  Percie. 

"Hush,  hush  !  no  English !  Walls  have  ears,  and 
your  voice  is  rather  gruffish,  mademoiselle.  Show 


200  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

me  your  passport?  Cunegunda  Von  Krakenpate, 
eighteen  years  of  age,  blue  eyes,  nose  and  chin  mid 
dling,  etc!  There  is  the  conductor's  horn !  Allez  vite!" 
We  meet  a  Laybach.  Adieu,  charmante  femme ! 
Adieu ! 

And  with  the  sort  of  caricatured  elegance  which 
women  always  assume  in  their  imitations  of  our  sex, 
Countess  Iminild,  in  frock-coat  and  trowsers,  helped 
into  the  diligence,  in  hood  and  petticoat,  my  "  tiger" 
from  Cranbourne-alley ! 


CHAP.  IV. 

Spite  of  remonstrance  on  my  part,  the  imperative 
countess,  who  had  asserted  her  authority  more  than 
once  on  our  way  to  Laybach,  insisted  on  the  com 
pany  of  Miss  Cunegunda  Von  Krakenpate,  in  an 
evening  walk  around  the  town.  Fearing  that  Per- 
cie's  masculine  stride  would  betray  him,  and  object 
ing  to  lend  myself  to  a  farce  with  my  valet,  1 
opposed  the  freak  as  long  as  it  was  courteous — but 
it  was  not  the  first  time  I  had  learned  that  a  spoiled 

woman  would  have  her  own  way,  and,  too  vexed 

.*»• 

to  laugh,  I  soberly  promenaded  the  broad  avenue  of 
the  capital  of  Styria,  with  a  valet  en  demoiselle,  and 
a  dame  en  valet. 

It  was  but  a  few  hours  hence  to  Planina,  and  Imi- 


THE    BANDIT   OF    AUSTRIA.  201 

nild,  who  seemed  to  fear  no  risk  out  of  u  walled  city, 
waited  on  Percie  to  the  carriage  the  following 
morning,  and  in  a  few  hours  we  drove  up  to  the 
rural  inn  of  this  small  town  of  Littorale. 

I  had  been  too  much  out  of  humour  to  ask  the 
countess,  a  second  time,  what  errand  she  could  have 
in  so  rustic  a  neighbourhood.  She  had  made  a 
mystery  of  it,  merely  requiring  of  me  that  I  should 
defer  all  arrangements  for  the  future,  as  far  as  she 
was  concerned,  till  we  had  visited  a  spot  in  Littorale, 
upon  which  her  fate  in  many  respects  depended. 
After  twenty  fruitless  conjectures,  I  abandoned  my 
self  to  the  course  of  circumstances,  reserving  only 
the  determination,  if  it  should  prove  a  haunt  of 
Yvain's  troop,  to  separate  at  once  from  her  company 
and  await  her  at  Trieste. 

Our  dinner  was  preparing  at  the  inn,  and  tired  of 
the  embarrassment  Percie  exhibited  in  my  presence, 
I  walked  out  and  seated  myself  under  an  immense 
linden,  that  every  traveller  will  remember,  standing 
in  the  centre  of  the  motley  and  indescribable  clusters 
of  buildings,  which  serve  the  innkeeper  and  black 
smith  of  Planina  for  barns,  forge,  dwelling,  and 
outhouses.  The  tree  seems  the  father  of  the  village. 
It  was  a  hot  afternoon,  and  I  was  compelled  to 
dispute  the  shade  with  a  congregation  of  cows  and 
double-jointed  postborses;  but  finding  a  seat  high  up 
on  the  root,  at  last  I  busied  myself  with  gazing  down 


202  ROMANCE      OF     TRAVEL. 

the  road,  and  conjecturing  what  a  cloud  of  dust 
might  contain,  which,  in  an  opposite  direction  from 
that  which  we  had  come,  was  slowly  creeping 
onward  to  the  inn. 

Four  roughly-harnessed  horses  at  length,  ap 
peared,  with  their  traces  tied  over  their  backs — one 
of  them  ridden  by  a  man  in  a  farmers  frock.  They 
struck  me  at  first  as  fine  specimens  of  the  German 
breed  of  draught-horses,  with  their  shaggy  fetlocks 
and  long  manes ;  but  while  they  drank  at  the  trough 
which  stood  in  the  shade  of  the  linden,  the  low  tone 
in  which  the  man  checked  their  greedy  thirst,  and  the 
instant  obedience  of  the  well-trained  animals,  awa 
kened  at  once  my  suspicions  that  we  were  to  become 
better  acquainted.  A  more  narrow  examination 
convinced  me  that,  covered  with  dust  and  disguised 
with  coarse  harness  as  they  were,  they  were  four 
horses  of  such  bone  and  condition,  as  were  never 
seen  in  a  farmer's  stables.  The  rider  dismounted 
at  the  inn  door,  and  very  much  to  the  embarrassment 
of  my  suppositions,  the  landlord,  a  stupid  and  heavy 
Boniface,  greeted  him  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old 
acquaintance,  and  in  answer,  apparently  to  an  in 
quiry,  pointed  to  my  carriage,  and  led  him  into  the 
house. 

"Monsieur  Tyrell,"  said  Iminild,  coming  out  to 
me  a  moment  after,  "  a  servant  whom  I  had  ex 
pected  has  arrived  with  my  horses,  and  with  your 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  203 

consent,  they  shall  be  put  to  your  carriage  immedi 
ately." 

"To  take  us  where?" 

"To  our  place  of  destination." 

"  Too  indefinite,  by  half,  Countess  !  Listen  to  me ! 
I  have  very  sufficient  reason  to  fancy  that,  in  leaving 
the  post-road  to  Trieste,  I  shall  leave  the  society  of 
honest  men.  You  and  your  *  minions  of  the  moon' 
may  be  very  pleasant,  but  you  are  not  very  safe 
companions ;  and  having  really  a  wish  to  die  quietly 
in  my  bed — " 

The  countess  burst  into  a  laucrh. 

o 

"If  you  will  have  the  character  of  the  gentleman 
you  are  about  to  visit  from  the  landlord  here — " 

"Who  is  one  of  your  ruffians  himself,  I'll  be 
sworn !" 

"  No,  on  my  honour  !  A  more  innocent  old  beer- 
guzzler  lives  not  on  the  road.  But  I  will  tell  you 
thus  much,  and  it  ought  to  content  you.  Ten  miles 
to  the  west  of  this  dwells  a  country  gentleman,  who, 
the  landlord  will  cgrtify,  is  as  honest  a  subject  of  his 
gracious  majesty  as  is  to  be  found  in  Littorale.  He 
lives  freely  on  his  means,  and  entertains  strangers 
occasionally  from  all  countries,  for  he  has  been  a 
traveller  in  his  time.  You  are  invited  to  pass  a  day 
or  two  with  this  Mynheer  Krakenpate,  (who,  by  the 
way,  has  no  objection  to  pass  for  father  of  the  young 
lady  you  have  so  kindly  brought  from  Laybach,) 


204  ROMANCE     OF    TRAVEL. 

and  he  has  sent  you  his  horses,  like  a  generous  host, 
to  bring  you  to  his  cbor.  More  seriously,  this  was 
a  retreat  of  Yvain's,  where  he  would  live  quietly 
and  play  bon  citoyzn,  and  you  have  nothing  earthly 
to  fear  in  accompanying  me  thither.  And  now  will 
you  wait  and  eat  the  greasy  meal  you  have  ordered, 
or  will  you  save  your-appstite  for  la  fortune  de  pot 
at  Mynheer  Kraken pate's,  and  get  presently  on  the 
road !" 

I  yielded  rather  to  the  seducing  smile  and  capti 
vating  beauty  of  my  pleasing  ward,  than  to  any 
confidence  in  the  honesty  of  Myneer  Krakenpate  ; 
and  Percie  being  once  more  ceremoniously  handed 
in,  we  left  the  village  at  the  sober  trot  becoming 
the  fat  steeds  of  a  landholder.  A  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  this  was  quite  sufficient  for  Iminild,  and 
a  word  to  the  postillion  changed,  like  a  metamorpho 
sis,  both  horse  and  rider.  From  a  heavy  unelastic 
figure,  he  rose  into  a  gallant  and  withy  horseman, 
and,  with  one  of  his  low-spoken  words,  away  flew 
the  four  compact  animals,  treading  lightly  as  cats, 
and,  with  the  greatest  apparent  ease,  putting  us  over 
the  ground  at  the  rate  of  fourteen  miles  in  the  hour. 

The  dust  was  distanced,  a  pleasant  breeze  was 
created  by  the  motion,  and  when  at  last  we  turned 
from  the  main  road,  and  sped  off  to  the  right  at  the 
same  exhilarating  pace,  I  returned  Iminild's  arch 
look  of  remonstrace  with  mv  best-humoured  smile 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  20f> 

and  an  affectionate  je  me  fie  a  vous  !  Miss  Kraken- 
pate,  I  observed,  echoed  the  sentiment  by  a  slight 
pressure  of  the  countess's  arm,  looking  very  inno 
cently  out  of  the  window  all  the  while. 

A  couple  oi  miles,  soon  done,  brought  us  round 
the  face  of  a  craggy  precipice,  forming  the  brow  oi' 
a  hill,  and  with  a  continuation  of  the  turn,  we  drew 
up  at  the  gate  of  a  substantial-looking  building, 
something  between  a  villa  and  a  farm-house,  built 
against  the  rock,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  shelter  from 
the  north  winds.  Two  beautiful  Angora  hounds 
sprang  out  at  the  noise,  and  recognized  Iminild 
through  all  her  disguise,  and  presently,  with  a  look  of 
forced  courtesy,  as  if  not  quite  sure  whether  he 
might  throw  off  the  mask,  a  stout  man  of  about  fifty, 
hardly  a  gentleman,  yet  above  a  common  peasant 
in  his  manners,  stepped  forward  from  the  garden  to 
give  Miss  Krakenpate  his  assistance  in  alighting. 

"  Dinner  in  half  an  hour !"  was  Iminild's  brief 
greeting,  and,  stepping  between  her  bowing  depen 
dant  and  Percie,  she  led  the  way  into  the  house. 

I  was  shown  into  a  chamber,  furnished  scarce 
above  the  common  style  of  a  German  inn,  where  I 
made  a  hungry  man's  despatch  in  my  toilet,  and  de 
scended  at  once  to  the  parlour.  The  doors  were  all 
open  upon  the  ground  floor,  and,  finding  myself  quite 
alone,  I  sauntered  from  room  to  room,  wondering 
at  the  scantiness  of  the  furniture  and  general  air  of 
18 


Wti  ROMANCE    OF    TKAVEL, 

discomfort,  and  scarce  able  to  believe  that  the  same 
mistress  presided  over  this  and  the  singular  paradise 
in  which  I  had  first  found  her  at  Vienna.  After  visiting 
every  corner  of  the  ground  floor  with  a  freedom 
which  I  assumed  in  my  character  as  guardian,  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  had  not  yet  found  the  dining- 
room,  and  I  was  making  a  new  search,  when  Imi- 
nild  entered. 

I  have  said  she  was  a  beautiful  woman.  She  was- 
dressed  now  in  the  Albanian  costume,  with  the  adr 
aitionai  gorgeousness  of  gold  embroidery,  which 
might  distinguish  the  favourite  chjld  of  a  chief  of 
Suli.  It  was  the  male  attire,  with  a  snowy  white 
juktanilla  reaching  to  the  knee,  a  short  jacket  of 
crimson  velvet,  and  a  close-buttoned  vest  of  silver 
cloth,  fitting  admirably  to  her  girlish  bust,  and  leav 
ing  her  slender  and  pearly  neck  to  rise  bare  and 
swan-like  into  the  masses  of  her  clustering  hair. 
Her  slight  waist  was  defined  by  the  girdle  of  fine 
linen  edged  with  fringe  of  gold,  which  was  tied  co- 
quettishly  over  her  left  side  and  fell  to  her  ankle 
and  below  the ,  embroidered  leggin  appeared  the 
fairy  foot,  which  had  drawn  upon  me  all  this  long 
train  of  adventure,  thrust  into  a  Turkish  slipper 
with  a  sparkling  emerald  on  its  instep.  A  feroniere 
of  the  yellowest  gold  sequins  bound  her  hair  back 
from  her  temples,  and  this  was  the  only  confinement 
to  the  dark  brown  meshes  which,  in  wavv  lines  and 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  201 

in  the  richest  profusion,  fell  almost  to  her  feet.  Th*. 
only  blemish  to  this  vision  of  loveliness  was  a  flus! 
about  her  eyes.  The  place  had  recalled  Yvain  t 
her  memory. 

"  I  am  about  to  disclose  to  you  secrets  ,"  said  shr 
laying  her  hand  on  my  arm,  "  which  have  neve 
been  revealed  but  to  the  most  trusty  of  Yvain' s  con 
federates.  To  satisfy  those  whom  you  will  mee 
you  must  swear  to  me  on  the  same  cross  which  h 
pressed  to  your  lips  when  dying,  that  you  will  neve 
violate,  while  I  live,  the  tiust  we  repose  in  you." 

"  I  will  take  no  oath,"  I  said  ;  "  for  you  are  leadin: 
me  blindfolded.     If  you  are  not  satisfied  with  th; 
assurance  that  I  can   beti^iy  no  confidence  whic: 
honour  would  preserve,  hungry  as  I  am,  I  will  \< 
dine  in  Planina." 

"  Then  I  will  trust  to  the  faith  of  an  Englishman. 
And  now  I  have  a  favour,  not  to  beg,  but  to  insist 
upon — that  from  this  moment  you  consider  Perch: 
as  dismissed  from  your  service,  and  treat  him,  whil< 
here  at  least,  as  my  equal  and  friend." 

44  Willingly !"  I  said  ;  and  ns  the  word  left  in\ 
lips,  enter  Percie  in  the  counterpart  dress  of  Iminild 
with  a  silver-sheathed  ataghan  at  his  side,  and  the 
blueish  muzzles  of  a  pair  of  Egg's  linir-trigger;< 
peeping  from  below  his  girdle.  To  do  the  rasca; 
justice,  h<;-  was  .as  han.Isrmio  in  his  runv  toggery  a 
Hs  mistress,  and  carried  it  as  irallantlv.  The1, 


208  ROMANCE    OF     TRAVEL* 

would  have  made  the  prettiest  tableau  as  Juan  and 
llaidee. 

"  Is  there  any  chance  that  these  *  persuaders'  may 
be  necessary,"  I  asked,  pointing  to  his  pistols  which 
awoke  in  my  mind  a  momentary  suspicion. 

"  No — none  that  I  can  foresee — but  they  are 
loaded.  A  favourite,  among  men  whose  passions 
are  professionally  wild,"  she  continued  with  a  mean 
ing  glance  at  Percie  ;  "  should  be  ready  to  lay  his 
hand  on  them,  even  if  stirred  in  his  sleep  !" 

I  had  been  so  accustomed  to  surprises  of  late,  that 
I  scarce  started  to  observe,  while  Imimld  was  speak 
ing,  that  an  old-fashioned  clock,  which  stood  in  a 
niche  in  the  wall,  was  slowly  swinging  out  upon 
hinges.  A  narrow  aperture  of  sufficient  breadth  to 
•  admit  one  person  at  a  time,  was  disclosed  when  it 
had  made  its  entire  revolution,  and  in  it  stood  with 
a  lighted  torch,  the  stout  landlord  Von  Krakenpate. 
Iminild  looked  at  me  an  instant  as  if  to  enjoy  my 
surprise. 

"  Will  you  lead  me  in  to  dinner,  Mr.  Tyrell  ?"  she 
said  at  last,  with  a  laugh. 

"  If  we  are  to  follow  Myneer  Von  Krakenpate," 
I  replied,  "give  me  hold  of  the  skirt  of  yomjukta- 
nilla,  rather,  and  let  me  follow  !  Do  we  dine  in  the 
cellar?" 

I  stepped  before  Percie,  who  was  inclined  to  take 
advantage  of  my  hesitation  to  precede  me,  and  fol- 


f  H  E    B  A  N  D  I  T  O  F    A  U  S  T  1 1  A  . 

lowed  the  countess  into  the  opening,  which,  from 
*he  position  of  the  house,  I  saw  must  lead  directly 
into  the  face  of  the  rock.     Two  or  three  descending 
steps  convinced  me  that  it  was  a  natural  opening  en 
larged  by  art ;  and  after  one  or  two  sharp  turns,  and 
a  descent  of  perhaps  fifty  feet,  we  came  to  a  door 
which,  suddenly  flung   open  by  our  torch-bearer^ 
deluged  the  dark  passage  with  a  blaze  of  light  which 
the  eyesight  almost  refused  to  bear.     Recovering 
irom  my  amazement,  I  stepped  over  the  threshold 
of  the  door,  and  stood  upon  a  carpet  in  a  gallery  of 
sparkling  stalactites,  the  dazzling  reflection  of  inu- 
merable  lamps  flooding  the  air  around,  and  a  long 
snow-white  vista  of  the  same  briU'ancy  and  effect 
streching   downward  before  me.     Two   ridges  of 
the  calcareous  stratta  running  almost  parallel  over 
•>ur  heads,  formed  the  cornices  of  the  descending 
corridor,  and  from  these  with  a   regularity  that 
seemed  like  design,  the  sparkling  pillars,  white  as 
alabaster,  and  shaped  like  inverted  cones,  dropped 
nearly  to  the  floor,  their  transparent  points  resi- 
ng  on  the  peaks  of  the  corresponding  stalagmites, 
which  of  a  darker  hue  and  coarser  grain,  seemed 
designed  as  bases  to  a  new  order  of  architectural 
columns.     The  reflection  from  the  pure  crystalline 
rock  gave  to  this  singular  gallery  a  splendor  which 
only  the  palace  of  Aladdin  could  have  equalled.  The 
18* 


210  ROMANCEj    OF     TRAVEL. 

lamps  were  hung  between  in  irregular  but  effective 
ranges,  and  in  our  descent,  like  Thalaba,  who  re 
freshed  his  dazzled  eyes  in  the  desert  of  snow  by 
loo  king  on  the  green  wings  of  the  spirit  bird,  I  was 
compelled  to  bend  my  eyes  perpetually  for  relief  up 
on  the  soft,  dark  masses  of  hair  which  floated  upon 
the  lovely  shoulders  of  Iminild. 

At  the  e  xtremity  of  the  gallery  we  turned  short  to 
the  right,  and  followed  an  irregular  passage,  some- 
tim3S  S3  low  that  we  could  scarce  stand  upright, 
but  all  lighted  with  the  same  intense  brilliancy,  and 
formed  of  the  same  glittering  and  snow-white  sub 
stance.  We  had  be  en  rambling  on  thus  far  perhaps 
ten  minutes,  when  sudd  enly  the  air,  which  I  had  felt 
uncomfortably  chill,  gre  w  warm  and  soft,  and  the 
low  reverberation  of  running  water  fell  delighfully 
on  our  ears.  Far  a-he  ad  we  could  see  two  sparry 
columns  standing  close  together,  and  apparently 
closing  up  the  wa  y. 

"  Courage  !  my  ven  erable  guardian  !"  cried  Im:- 
nild,  laughing  over  her  shoulder  ;  **  you  will  see  your 
dinner  presently.  Are  you  hungry,  Percie  1" 

tk  Not  while  you  look  back,  Madame  la  Comtes- 
S3  I"  answered  th-3  callow  gentleman,  with  an  in 
stinctive  tact  at  his  new  vocation. 

We  stood  at  the  two  pillars  which  formed  ths 
extremity  of  tin  passage,  and  looked  down  upon  a 
scene  of  which  all  cbscription  mast  b?  faint  and  im- 


THE   BAND  IT   OF    AUSTRIA. 

perfect.  A  hundred  feet  below  ran  a  broad  subter 
raneous  river,  whose  waters  sparkling  in  the  blaze 
of  a  thousand  torches,  sprang  into  light  from  the 
deepest  darkness,  crossed  with  foaming  rapidity  the 
bosom  of  the  vast  illuminated  cavern,  and  disappear 
ed  again  in  the  same  inscrutable  gloom.  Whence  it 
it  came  or  whither  it  lied  was  a  mystery  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  eye.  The  deep  recesses  of  the  cavern 
seemed  darker  for  the  intense  light  gathered  about 
the  centre. 

After  the  first  few  minutes  of  bewilderment,  1  en 
deavoured  to  realize  in  detail  the  wondrous  scene  be 
fore  me.  The  cavern  was  of  an  irregular  shape,  but 
all  studded  above  with  the  same  sparry  incrustation, 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  pendant  stalactites  glit 
tering  on  the  roof,  and  showering  back  light  upon  the 
clusters  of  blazing  torches  fastened  everywhere 
upon  the  shelvy  sides.  Here  and  there  vast 
columns,  alabaster  white,  with  bases  of  gold  colour, 
fell  from  the  roof  to  the  floor,  like  pillars  left  stand 
ing  in  the  ruined  aisle  of  a  cathedral,  and  from  cor 
ner  to  corner  ran  their  curtains  of  the  same  brjlliant 
calcareous  spar,  shaped  like  the  sharp  edge  of  u 
snow-drift,  and  almost  white.  It  was  like  laying* 
bare  the  palace  of  some  king- wizard  of  the  mine  to 
gaze  down  upon  it. 

'•  What  think  you  of  Myneer  Krakenpate's  taste 
in  a  dining-room,  Monsieur  Tyrell?"  asked  the  OOUD- 


,12 


ftOMANCE    OF  TRAVEL. 


less,  who  stood  between  Percie  and  myself,  with 
a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  each. 

I  had  scarce  found  time,  as  yet,  to  scrutinize  the 
artificial  portion  of  the  marvellous  scene,  but,  at  the 
question  of  Iminild,  I  bent  my  gaze  on  a  broad  plat 
form,  rising  high  above  the  river  on  its  opposite 
bank,  the  rear  of  which  was  closed  in  by  perhaps 
forty  irregular  columns,  leaving  between  them  and 
the  sharp  precipice  on  the  river-side,  an  area,  in 
height  and  extent  of  about  the  capacity  of  a  ball 
room.  A  rude  bridg-3,  of  very  light  construction, 
rose  in  a  single  arch  across  the  river,  forming  the 
only  possible  access  to  the  platform  from  the  side- 
where  we  stood,  and,  following  the  path  back  witli 
my  eye,  I  observed  a  narrow  and  spiral  staircase, 
partly  of  wood  and  partly  cut  in  the  rock,  ascending 
irom  the  bridge  to  the  gallery  we  had  followed 
hither.  The  platform  was  carpctted  richly,  and 
flooded  with  intense  light,  and  in  it's  centre  stood  ;; 
gorgeous  array  of  smoking  dishes,  served  after  the 
Turkish  fashion,  with  a  cloth  upon  the  floor  and  sur 
rounded  with  cushions  and  ottomans  of  every  shape 
and  colour.  A  troop  of  black  slaves,  whose  silver 
anklets,  glittered  as  they  moved,  were  busy  bringing 
wines  and  completing  I  lie  arrangements  for  the 
meal. 

"  Allans,  million  /"  cried  Iminild,  getting  impati 
ent  arid  seizing  Percie's  arm.  "  let  us  get  over  the" 


THE     BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA. 


river,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Tyrell  will  look  down  upon 
us  with  his  grands  yeux  while  we  dine.  Oh,  you 
will  come  with  us  !  Suivez  done  /" 

An  iron  door,  which  I  had  not  hitherto  observed^ 
jet  us  out  from  the  gallery  upon  the  staircase,  and 
Myneer  Von  Krakenpate  carefully  turned  the  key 
behind  us.  We  crept  slowly  down  the  narrow 
staircase  and  reached  the  edge  of  the  river,  where 
the  warm  air  from  the  open  sunshine  came  pouring 
through  the  cavern  with  the  current,  bringing  with 
[t  a  smell  of  green  fields  and  flowers,  and  removing 
entirely  the  chill  of  the  cavernous  and  confined  at 
mosphere  I  had  found  so  uncomfortable  above 
We  crossed  the  bridge,  and  stepping  upon  the  elas 
tic  carpets  piled  thickly  on  the  platform,  arranged 
ourselves  about  the  smoking  repast,  Myneer  Von 
Krakenpate  sitting  down  after  permission  from  Imi- 
nild,  and  Percie  by  order  of  the  same  imperative 
dictatress,  throwing  his  graceful  length  at  her  feet. 


CHAP.  V. 

"  TAKE  a  lesson  in  flattery  from  Percie,  Mr.  Tyrell, 
and  be  satisfied  with  your  bliss  in  my  society  with 
out  asking  for  explanations.  I  would  fain  have  the 
use  of  my  tongue  (to  swallow)  for  ten  minutes,  and 
I  see  you  making  up  your  mouth  for  a  question, 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL, 

Try  this  pilau !  It  is  made  by  a  Greek  cook, 
who  fries,  boils  and  stews  in  a  kitchen  with  a  river 
for  a  chimney." 

"  Precisely  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you.  I  was 
wondering  how  you  cook  without  smoking  your 
snow-white  roof." 

"  Yes,  the  river  is  a  good  slave,  and  steals  wood 
as  well.  We  have  only  to  cut  it  by  moonlight  and 
commit  it  to  the  current." 

"  The  kitchen  is  down  stream,  then  ?" 

"  Down  stream  ;  and  down  stream  lives  jolly  Per- 
dicaris  the  cook,  who  having  lost  his  nose  in  a  sea- 
fight,  is  reconciled  to  forswear  sunshine  and  man 
kind,  and  cook  rice  for  pirates." 

"  Is  it  true  then  that  Yvain  held  command  on  the 
sea  ?" 

"  No,  not  Yvain,  but  Tranchcoeur — his  equal  in 
command  over  this  honest  confederacy.  By  the 
way,  he  his  your  countryman,  Mr.Tyrell,  though  he 
tights  under  a  nom  de  guerre.  You  are  very  likely 
to  see  him,  too,  for  his  bark  is  at  Trieste,  and  he  is 
the  only  human  being  besides  myself  (and  my  com 
pany  here)  who  can  come  and  go  at  wiil  jn  this 
robber's  paradise.  He  is  a  lover  of  mine,  parbleu,  ! 
and  since  Yvain's  death,  heaven  knows  what  fancy 
he  may  bring  hither  in  his  hot  brain  !  I  have  armed 
Percie  for  the  hazard  ?" 

The  thin  nostrils  of  rnv  friend  from  Cranbournr- 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA.  5 

Alley  dilated  with  prophetic  dislike  of  a  rival  thus 
abruptly  alluded  to,  and  there  was  that  in  his  face 
which  would  have  proved,  against  all  the  nurses' 
oaths  in  Christendom,  that  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman's 
blood  ran  warm  through  his  heart.  Signor  Tran- 
chcoeur  must  be  gentle  in  his  suit,  I  said  to  myself 
or  he  will  find  what  virtue  lies  in  a  hair-trigger  ! 
Percie  had  forgot  to  eat  since  the  mention  of  the 
pirate's  name,  and  sat  with  folded  arms  and  his  right 
hand  on  his  pistol. 

A  black  slave  brought  in  an  oindletfe  soufflw,  as 
light  and  delicate  as  the  chef-d'asuvre  of  an  artiste  in 
the  Palais  Royal.  Iminild  spoke  to  him  in  Greek  ^ 
as  he  knelt  and  placed  it  before  her. 

"  I  have  a  presentiment,"  she  said,  looking  at  me 
as  the  slave  disappeared,  "  that  Tranchcreur  wilj 
be  here  presently.  I  have  ordered  another  omeleff<> 
on  the  strength  of  the  feeling,  for  he  is  fond  of  it, 
and  may  be  soothed  by  the  attention." 

"Yor  fear  him,  then?" 

"  Not  if  I  were  alone,  for  he  is  as  gentle  as  a  wo 
man  when  he  has  no  rival  near  him — but  I  doubt 
his  relish  of  Percie.  Have  you  dined  ?" 

«  Quite." 

"  Then  come  and  look  at  my  garden,  and  hare  a 
peep  at  old  Perdicaris.  Stay  here,  Percie,  and  finish 
your  grapes,  mon-mignon  !  I  have  a  word  to  say- 
to  Mr.  Tvrell." 


210  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

t 

We  walked  across  the  platform,  and  passing  be 
tween  two  of  the  sparry  columns  forming  its  bound 
ary,  entered  upon  a  low  passage  which  led  to  a  large 
opening,  resembling  singularly  a  garden  of  low 
shrubs  turned  by  some  magic  to  sparkling  marble. 

Two  or  three  hundred  of  these  stalagmite  cones, 
formed  by  the  dripping  of  calcareous  water  from 
the  roof,  (as  those  on  the  roof  were  formed  by  the 
same  fluid  which  hardened  and  pondered,)  stood 
about  in  the  spacious  area,  every  shrub  having  an 
answering  cone  on  the  roof,  like  the  reflection  of  the 
same  marble  garden  in  a  mirror.  One  side  of  this 
singular  apartment  was  used  as  a  treasury  for  the 
spoils  of  the  band,  and  on  the  points  of  the  white 
cones  hung  pitchers  and  altar  lamps  of  silver,  gold 
drinking-cups,  and  chains,  and  plate  and  jewellery 
of  every  age  and  description.  Farther  oil  were  piled, 
in  unthrifty  confusion,  heaps  of  velvets  and  silks,  fine 
broadcloths,  French  gloves,  shoes  and  slippers, 
brocades  of  Genoa,  pieces  of  English  linen,  damask 
curtains  still  fastened  to  their  cornices,  a  harp  and 
mandolin,  cases  of  damaged  bons-bons,  two  or  three 
richly-bound  books,  and,  (last  and  most  valuable  in 
my  eyes.)  a  minature  bureau,  evidently  the  plunder 
of  some  antiquary's  treasure,  containing  in  its  little 
drawers  antique  gold  coins  of  India,  carefully  dated 
and  arranged,  with  a  list  of  its  contents  half-torn 
from  the  lid. 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AUSTRIA  21? 

%<  You  should  hear  Tranchcoeur's  sermons  on 
these  pretty  texts,"  said  the  countess,  trying  to  thrust 
open  a  bale  of  Brusa  silk  with  her  Turkish  slipper, 

"He  will  beat  off  the  top  of  a  stalagmite  with  his 
sabre-hilt,  and  sit  down  and  talk  over  his  spoils  and 
the  adventures  they  recall,  till  morning  dawns." 

"  And  how  is  that  discovered  in  this  sunless 
cave  ?" 

"  By  the  perfume.  The  river  brings  news  of  it. 
and  fills  the  cavern  with  the  sun's  first  kisses.  Those 
violets  'kiss  and  tell,'  Mr.  Tyrell  !  Apropos  des 
bottes,  let  us  look  into  the  kitchen." 

We  turned  to  the  right,  keeping  on  the  same  level, 
and  a  few  steps  brought  us  to  the  brow  of  a  consider 
able  descent  forming  the  lower  edge  of  the  carpeted 
platform,  but  separated  from  it  by  a  wall  of  close 
stalactites.  At  the  bottom  of  the  descent  ran  the 
river,  but  just  along  the  brink,  forming  a  considerable 
crescent,  extended  a  flat  rock,  occupied  by  all  the 
varied  implements  of  a  kitchen,  and  lighted  bv  the 
glare  of  two  or  three  different  fires  blazing  against 
the  perpendicular  limit  of  the  cave.  The  smoke  of 
these  followed  the  inclination  of  the  wall,  and  was 
swept  entirely  down  with  the  current  of  the  river. 
At  the  nearest  fire  stood  Perdicaris,  a  fat,  long-haired 
and  sinister-looking  rascal,  his  noseless  face  glowing 
with  the  heat,  and  at  his  side  waited,  with  a  silver 
dish,  the  Nubian  slave  who  had  been  sent  for 
Tranchcoeur's  omelette.  19 


ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

"  One  of  the  most  bloody  fights  of  my  friend  the 
rover,"  said  Iminild,  "was  with  an  armed  slaver, 
from  whom  he  took  these  six  pages  of  mine.  They 
have  reason  enough  to  comprehend  an  order,  but 
too  little  to  dream  of  liberty.  They  are  as  contented 
as  tortoises,  ici-bas" 

"  Is  there  no  egress  hence  but  by  the  iron  door  ?" 

"  None  that  I  know  of,  unless  one  could  swim  up 
this  swift  river  like  a  salmon.  You  may  have  sur 
mised  by  this  time,  that  we  monopolize  an  unex 
plored  part  of  the  great  cave  of  Adelsberg.  Com 
mon  report  says  it  extends  ten  miles  under  ground, 
but  common  report  has  never  burrowed  as  far  as 
this,  and  I  doubt  whether  there  is  any  communica 
tion.  Father  Krakenpate's  clock  conceals  an  en 
trance,  discovered  first  by  robbers,  and  handed 
down  by  tradition,  heaven  knows  how  long.  But — 
hark !  Tranchcoeur,  by  heaven !  my  heart  foreboded 
it!" 

I  sprang  after  the  countess,  who,  with  her  last 
exclamation,  darted  between  two  of  the  glittering 
columns  separating  us  from  the  platform,  and  my 
first  glance  convinced  me  that  her  fullest  anticipa 
tions  of  the  pirate's  jealousy  were  more  than  realis 
ed.  Percie  stood  with  his  back  to  a  tall  pillar  on  the 
farther  side,  with  his  pistol  levelled,  calm  and 
unmoveable  as  a  stalactite;  and,  with  his  sabre 


THE    BANDIT    OP    AUSTRIA.  219 

drawn  and  his  eyes  flashing  fire,  a  tall  powerfully- 
built  man  in  a  sailor's  preks,  was  arrested  by  Iminild 
in  the  act  of  rushing  on  him.  "  Stop  !  or  you  die, 
Tranchcoeur  !"  said  the  countess,  in  a  tone  of  trifling 
command.  He  is  my  guest  !" 

"  He  is  my  prisoner,  madame  !"  was  the  answer 
as  the  pirate  changed  his  position  to  one  of  perfect 
repose  and  shot  his  sabre  into  his  sheath,  as  if  a  brief 
delay  could  make  little  difference. 

"  We  shall  see  that,"  said  the  countess,  once  more* 
with  as  soft  a  voice  as  was  ever  heard  in  a  lady's 
boudoir ;  and  stepping  to  the  edge  of  the  platform' 
she  touched  with  her  slipper  a  suspended  gong, 
which  sent  through  the  cavern  a  shrill  reveberation 
heard  clearly  over  the  rushing  music  of  the  river. 

In  an  instant  the  click  of  forty  muskets  from  the 
other  side  fell  on  our  ears  ;  and,  at  a  wave  of  her 
hand,  the  butts  rattled  on  the  rocks,  and  all  was  still 
again. 

"  I  have  not  trusted  myself  within  your  reach, 
Monsieur  Tranchcceur,"  said  Iminild,  flinging  her 
self  carelessly  on  an  ottoman,  and  motioning  to  Per- 
cie  to  keep  his  stand,  "  withont  a  score  or  two  of 
my  free  riders  from  Mount  Semering  to  regulate 
your  conscience.  I  am  mistress  here,  sir!  You 
may  sit  down !" 

Tranchcoeur  had  assumed  an  air  of  the  most  gen 
tlemanly  tranquillity,  and  motioning  to  one  of  the 


220  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

slaves  for  his  pipe,  he  politely  begged  pardon  for 
smoking  in  the  countess's  presence,  and  filled  the 
enamelled  bowl  with  Shiraz  tobacco. 

"  You  heard  of  Yvain's  death  ?"  she  remarked 
after  a  moment  passing  her  hand  over  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  at  Venice." 

"With his  dying  words,  he  gave  me  and  mine  in 
charge  to  this  Englishman.  Mr.  Tyrell,  Monsieur 
Tranchcceur." 

The  pirate  bowed. 

"  Have  you  been  long  from  England  7"  he  asked 
with  an  accent  and  voice  that  even  in  that  brief 
question,  savoured  of  the  nonchalant  English  of  the 
West  End. 

"  Two  years  P?  I  answered. 

"  I  should  have  supposed  much  longer  from  your 
chivalry  in  St.  Etienne,  Mr.  Tyrell.  My  country 
men  generally  are  less  hasty.  Your  valet  there,"  he 
continued,  looking  sneeringly  at  Percie,  "  seems  as 
quick  on  the  trigger  as  his  master." 

Percie  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  to  the  edge 
of  the  platform  as  if  uneasy  at  the  remark,  and  Im- 
inild  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Look  you,  Tranchco3ur  !  I'll  have  none  of  your 
sneers.  That  youth  is  as  well-born  and  better  bred 
than  yourself,  and  with  his  consent,  shall  have  the 
authority  of  the  holy  church  ere  long  to  protect  my 
property  and  me.  Will  you  aid  me  in  this,  Mr.. 
Tyrell  I" 


THE    BANDIT     OF     AUSTRIA.  221 

"  Willingly,  countess !" 

"  Then,  Tranchcoeur,  farewell !  I  have  withdrawn 
from  the  common  stock  Yvain's  gold  and  jewels, 
and  I  trust  to  your  sense  of  honour  to  render  me  at 
'Venice  whatever  else  of  his  private  property  may 
be  concealed  in  the  island." 

"  Iminild  !"  cried  the  pirate,  springing  to  his  feet, 
"  I  did  not  think  to  show  a  weakness  before  this 
stranger,  but  I  implore  you  to  delay  !" 

His  bosom  heaved  with  strong  emotion  as  he 
spoke,  and  the  colour  fled  from  his  bronzed  features 
as  if  he  were  struck  with  a  mortal  sickness. 

"  I  cannot  lose  you,  Iminild !  I  have  loved  you 
too  long.  You  must " 

She  motioned  to  Percie  to  pass  on. 

"  By  heaven,  you  shall !"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  sud 
denly  become  hoarse  with  passion ;  and  reckless  of 
consequences,  he  leaped  across  the  heaps  of  cushions , 
and,  seizing  Percie  by  the  throat,  flung  him  with 
terrible  and  headlong  violence  into  the  river. 

A  scream  from  Iminild,  and  the  report  of  a  mus 
ket  from  the  other  side,  rang  at  the  same  instant 
through  the  cavern,  and  as  I  rushed  forward  to 
seize  the  pistol  which  he  had  struck  from  Percie's 
hand,  his  half-drawn  sabre  slid  back  powerless  into 
the  sheath,  and  Tranchcceur  dropped  heavily  on  his 
knee. 

"  I  am  peppered,  Mr.  Tyrell !"  he  said,  waving  me 
19* 


ROMANCE     OF     TRAVfit. 

off  with  difficult  effort  to  smile,  "look  after  the 
boy,  if  you  care  for  him  !  A  curse  on  her  German 
wolves  !" 

Percie  met  me  on  the  bridge,  supporting  Iminild, 
who  hung  on  his  neck,  smothering  him  with  kisses. 

"  Where  is  that  dog  of  a  pirate  V  she  cried,  sud 
denly  snatching  her  ataghan  from  the  sheath  and 
flying  across  the  platform.  "  Tranchcoeur !" 

Her  hand  was  arrested  by  the  deadly  pallor  and 
helpless  attitude  of  the  wounded  man,  and  the  wea 
pon  dropped  as  she  stood  over  him.  \ 

"  1  think  it  is  not  mortal,"  he  said,  groaning  as  he 
pressed  his  hand  to  his  side.  "  but  take  your  boy 
out  of  my  sight!  Iminild!" 

«  Well^ranchcceur !" 

"  I  have  not  done  well — but  you  know  my  nature 
— and  my  love !  Forgive  me,  and  farewell !  Send 
Bertram  to  stanch  his  blood — I  get  faint !  A  little 
wine,  Iminild !" 

He  took  the  massive  flagon  from  her  hand,  and 
drank  a  long  draught,  and  then  drawing  to  him  a 
cloak  which  lay  near,  he  covered  his  head  and  drop 
ped  on  his  side  as  if  to  sleep. 

Iminild  knelt  beside  him  and  tore  open  the  shirt 
beneath  his  jacket,  and  while  she  busied  herself  in 
stanching  the  blood,  Perdicaris,  apparently  well  pre 
pared  tor  such  accidents,  arrived  with  a  surgeon's 
probe,  and,  on  examination  of  the  wound,  assured 


THE    BANDIT    OF    AU-STRIA. 

Iminild  that  she  might  safely  leave  him.  Washing 
her  hands  in  the  flagon  of  wine,  she  threw  a  cloak 
over  the  wet  and  shivering  Percie,  and,  silent  with 
horror  at  the  scene  behind  us,  we  made  our  way 
over  the  bridge,  and  in  a  short  time,  to  my  infinite 
relief,  stood  in  the  broad  moonlight  on  the  portico 
of  Myneer  Krakenpate. 

My  carriage  was  soon  loaded  with  the  baggage 
and  treasure  of  the  countess,  and  with  the  same 
swift  horses  that  had  brought  us  from  Planina,  we 
regained  the  post-road,  and  sped  on  toward  Venice 
by  the  Friuli.  We  arrived  on  the  following  night 
at  the  fair  city  so  beloved  of  romance,  and  with 
what  haste  I  might,  I  procured  a  priest  and  mar 
ried  the  Countess  Iminild  to  gentleman  Percie. 

As  she  possessed  now  a  natural  guardian,  and  a 
sufficient  means  of  life,  I  felt  released  from  my  death 
vow  to  Yvain,  and  bidding  farewell  to  the  "happy 
couple,"  I  resumed  my  quiet  habit  of  travel,  and 
three  days  after  my  arrival  at  Venice,  was  on  the 
road  to  Padua  by  the  Brenta. 


,  or  tfte 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL. 


OONDER-HOOFDEN,  O.I  THE  UNDERCLIFF. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  VOYAGE  OF  HKNDRICK  HUDSON. 

CHAP.  1. 

"  It  is  but  an  arm  of  the  sea,  as  I  told  thee,  skip 
per,"  said  John  Fleming,  the  mate  of  the  "  Halve- 
Mane,"  standing  ready  to  jam  down  the  tiller  and 
bring-to,  if  his  master  should  agree  with  him  in  opi 
nion. 

Hudson  stood  by  his  steersman,  with  folded  arms, 
now  looking  at  the  high-water  mark  on  the  rocks, 
which  betrayed  a  falling  tide,  now  turning  his  ear 
slightly  forward  to  catch  the  cry  of  the  man  who 
stood  heaving  the  lead  from  the  larboard  bow.  The 
wind  drew  lightly  across  the  starboard  quarter,  and, 
with  a  counter-tide,  the  little  vessel  stole  on  scarce 
perceptibly,  though  her  mainsail  was  kept  full — the 


228  OONDER-HOOFDEtt* 

4 

slowly  passing  forest  trees  on  the  shore  giving  the 
lie  to  the  merry  and  gurgling  ripple  at  the  prow. 

The  noble  river,  or  creek,  which  they  had  follow 
ed  in  admiring  astonishment  for  fifty  miles,  had  hith 
erto  opened  fairly  and  broadly  before  them,  though, 
once  or  twice,  its  widening  and  mountain-girt  bosom 
had  deceived  the  bold  navigator  into  the  belief, 
that  he  was  entering  upon  some  inland  lake.  The 
wind  still  blew  kindly  and  steadily  from  the  south 
east,  and  the  sunset  of  the  second  day — a  spectacle 
of  tumultuous  and  gorgeous  glory  which  Hudson 
attributed  justly  to  the  more  violent  atmospheric 
laws  of  an  unsettled  continent — had  found  them  appa 
rently  closed  in  by  impenetrable  mountains,  and  run 
ning  immediately  on  the  head  shore  of  an  extended 
arm  of  the  sea. 

"  She'll  strike  before  she  can  follow  her  helm,'" 
cried  the  young  sailor  in  an  impatient  tone,  yet  still 
with  hab!tual  obedience  keeping  her  duly  on  her 
course. 

"  Port  a  little  !"  answered  the  skipper,  a  moment 
after,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  querulous  comment 
of  his  mate. 

Fleming's  attention  was  withdrawn'  an  instant  by 
a  low  gutteral  sound  of  satisfaction,  which  reached 
his  ear  as  the  head  of  the  vessel  went  round,  and. 
casting  his  eye  a-mid-ships,  he  observed  the  three 
Indians  who  had  come  off  to  the  Half-Moon  in  a 


OONDER-HOOFDEN.  220 

canor  and  had  been  received  onboard  by  the  master, 
standing  together  in  the  chains,  and  looking  for 
ward  to  the  rocks  they  were  approaching  with 
countenances  of  the  most  eager  interest. 

"Master  Hendrick!"  he  vociferated  in  the  tone  of 
a  man  who  can  contain  his  anger  no  longer,  "  will 
you  look  at  these  grinning  red-devils,  who  are  re 
joicing  to  see  you  run  so  blindly  ashore  ?" 

The  adventurous  little  bark  was  r>y  this  time 
within  a  biscuit  toss  of  a  rocky  point  that  jutted 
forth  iiiio  rhe  river  with  the  grace  of  a  ^cidy;c  root 
dallying  with  the  water  in  her  bath  ;  and,  beyond 
the  sedgy  bank  disappeared  in  an  apparent  inlet, 
barely  deep  enough,  it  seemed  to  the  irritated  steers 
man,  to  shelter  a  canoe. 

As  the  Half-Moon  obeyed  her  last  order,  and 
headed  a  point  more  to  the  west,  Hudson  strode 
forward  to  the  bow,  and  sprang  upon  the  windlass, 
stretching  his  gaze  eagerly  into  the  bosom  of  the 
hills  that  were  now  darkening  with  the  heavy  sha 
dows  of  twilight,  though  the  sky  was  still  gorgeously 
purple  overhead. 

The  crew  had  by  this  time  gathered  with  uncon 
scious  apprehension  at  the  halyards,  ready  to  let  go 
at  the  slightest  gesture  of  the  master,  but,  in  the 
slow  progress  of  the  little  bark,  the  minute  or  two 
which  she  took  to  advance  beyond  the  point  on 
which  his  eye  was  fixed,  seemed  an  age  of  suspense. 
20 


230  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

The  Half-Moon  seemed  now  almost  immoveable 
for  the  current,  which  convinced  Hudson  there  was 
a  passage  beyond,  set  her  back  from  the  point  with 
increasing  force,  and  the  wind  lulled  a  little  with  the 
sunset.  Inch  by  inch,  however  she  crept  on,  till  at 
last  the  silent  skipper  sprang  from  the  windlass  upon 
the  bowsprit,  and,  running  out  with  the  agility  of  a 
boy,  gave  a  single  glance  ahead,  and  the  next  mo 
ment  had  the  tiller  in  his  hand,  and  cried  out  with  a 
voice  of  thunder,  "Stand  bv  the  halvards!  helm's- 
alee!" 

In  a  moment,  as  if  his  words  had  been  lightning, 
the  blocks  rattled,  tho  heavy  boom  swung  round  lik^ 
a  willow  spray,  and  the  white  canvass,  after  flutter 
ing  an  instant  in  the  wind,  filled  and  drew  steadily 
on  the  other  tack. 

Looks'  of  satisfaction  were  exchanged  between 
the  crew,  who  expected  the  next  instant  an  order 
to  take  in  the  sail  and  drop  anchor — but  the  master 
was  at  the  helm,  and  to  their  utter  consternation,  he 
kept  her  steadily  to  the  wind  and  drove  straight  on 
— while  a  gorge,  that  in  the  increasing  darkness, 
seemed  the  entrance  to  a  cavern,  opened  its  rocky 
sides  as  they  advanced. 

The  apprehensions  of  the  crew  were  half  lost  in 
their  astonishment  at  the  grandeur  of  the  scene. 
The  cliffs  seemed  to  close  up  behind  them ;  a  moun 
tain,  that  reached  apparently  to  the  now  colourless 


ObNliEk-HOOFDEN.  231 

clouds,  rose  up  gigantic,  in  the  increasing  twilight, 
over  the  prow;  on  the  right,  where  the  water  seemed 
to  bend,  a  craggy  precipice  extended  its  threaten 
ing  wall ;  and  in  the  midst  of  this  round  bay,  which 
seemed  to  them  to  be  an  enclosed  lake  in  the  bottom 
of  an  abyss,  the  wind  suddenly  took  them  aback, 
the  Halve  Mane  lost  her  headway,  and  threatened 
to  go  on  the  rocks  with  the  current,  and  audible  cur 
ses  at  his  folly  reached  the  ears  of  the  determined 
master. 

More  to  divert  their  attention  than  with  a  prognos 
tic  of  the  direction  of  the  wind,  Hudson  gave  the 
order  to  tack,  and,  more  slowly  this  time,  but  still 
with  sufficient  expedition,  the  movement  was  execut 
ed,  and  the  flapping  sails  swung  round.  The  hal 
yards,  were  not  belayed  before  the  breeze,  rush 
ing  down  a  steep  valley  on  the  left,  struck  full 
on  the  larboard  quarter,  and,  running  sharp  past 
the  face  of  the  precipice  over  the  starboard  bow, 
Hudson  pointed  out,  exultingly,  to  his  astonished 
men,  the  broad  waters  of  the  mighty  river,  extend 
ing  far  through  the  gorge  beyond — the  dim  purple 
of  the  lingering  day,  which  had  been  long  lost  to  the 
cavernous  and  overshadowed  pass  they  had  pene 
trated,  tinting  its  far  bosom  like  the  last  faint  hue  of 
the  expiring  dolphin. 

The  exulting  glow  of  triumph  suffused  the  face 
of  the  skipper,  and  relinquishing  the  tiller  once  more 


ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

to  the  mortified  Fleming,  he  walked  forward  to  look 
out  for  an  anchorage.  The  Indians,  who  still  stood 
in  the  chains  together,  and  who  had  continued  to 
express  their  satisfaction  as  the  vessel  made  her  way 
through  the  pass,  now  pointed  eagerly  to  a  little 
bay  on  the  left,  across  which  a  canoe  was  shooting 
like  the  reflection  of  a  lance  in  the  air,  and,  the  wind 
dying  momently  away,  Hudson  gave  the  order  to 
round  to,  and  dropped  his  anchor  for  the  night. 

In  obedience  to  the  politic  orders  of  Hudson  the 
men  were  endeavouring,  by  presents  and  s:gns,  to 
induce  the  Indians  to  leave  the  vessel,  and  the  mas 
ter  himself  stood  on  the  poop  with  his  mate,  gazing 
back  on  the  wonderful  scene  they  had  passed 
through. 

"  This  passage,"  said  Hudson,  musingly,  "  has 
been  rent  open  by  an  earthquake,  and  the  rocks  look 
still  as  if  they  felt  the  agony  of  the  throe." 

"  It  is  a  pity  the  earthquake  did  its  job  so  rag 
gedly,  then !"  answered  his  sulky  companion,  who 
had  not  yet  forgiven  the  mountains  for  the  shame 
their  zig-zag  precipices  hnd  put  upon  his  sagacity. 

At  that  instant  a  sound,  like  that  of  a  heavy  body 
sliding  into  the  water,  struck  the  ear  of  Fleming, 
and  looking  quickly  over  the  stern,  he  saw  one  of 
the  Indians  swimming  from  the  vessel  with  a  pillow 
in  his  hand,  which  he  had  evidently  stolen  from  the 
cabin  window.  To  seize  a  musket,  which  lay  ready 


OONDER-HOOFDEN.  233 

for  attack  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  fire  upon  the 
poor  savage,  was  the  sudden  thought  and  action  of  a 
man  on  the  watch,  for  a  vent  to  incensed  feelings. 

The  Indian  gave  a  yell  which  mingled  wildly  with 
the  echoes  of  the  report  from  the  reverberating  hills, 
and  springing  waist-high  out  of  the  water,  the  gurg 
ling  eddy  closed  suddenly  over  his  head. 

The  canoe  in  which  the  other  savages  were 
already  embarked  shot  away,  like  an  arrow,  to  the 
shore,  and  Hudson,  grieved  and  alarmed  inexpres 
sibly  at  the  fool-hardy  rashness  of  his  mate,  ordered 
all  hands  to  arms,  and  established  a  double  watch 
for  the  night. 

Hour  after  hour,  the  master  and  the  non-repent 
ant  Fleming  paced  fore  and  aft,  each  in  his  own 
quarter  of  the  vessel,  watching  the  shore  and  the 
dark  face  of  the  water  with  straining  eyes :  but  no 
sound  came  from  the  low  cliff  round  which  the  fly 
ing  canoe  had  vanished,  and  the  stars  seemed  to 
wink  almost  audibly  in  the  dread  stillness  of  nature. 
The  men  alarmed  at  the  evident  agitation  of  Hud 
son,  who,  in  these  pent-up  waters,  anticipated  a 
most  effective  and  speedy  revenge  from  the  sur 
rounding  tribes,  drowsed  not  upon  their  watch,  and 
the  gray  light  of  the  morning  began  to  show  faintly 
over  the  mountains  before  the  anxious  master  with 
drew  his  aching  eyes  from  the  still  and  star 
waters. 

20* 


234  ROMANCE      TRAVEL. 


CHAP.  II. 

LIKE  a  web  woven  of  gold  by  the  lightning,  the 
sun's  rays  ran  in  swift  threads  from  summit  to  sum 
mit  of  the  dark  green  mountains,  and  the  soft  mist 
that  slept  on  the  breast  of  the  river  began  to  lift  like 
the  slumberous  lid  from  the  eye  of  woman,  when 
her  dream  is  broken  at  dawn.  Not  so  poetically 
were  these  daily  glories  regarded,  however,  by  the 
morning  watch  of  the  Half-Moon,  who,  between 
the  desire  to  drop  asleep  with  their  heads  on  the 
capstan,  and  the  necessity  of  keeping  sharper  watch 
lest  the  Indians  should  come  off  through  the  rising 
mist,  bore  the  double  pains  of  Tantalus  and  Sysi- 
phus — ungratified  desire  at  their  lips  and  threaten 
ing  ruin  over  their  heads. 

After  dividing  the  watch  at  the  break  of  day, 
Hudson,  with  the  relieved  part  of  his  crew,  had 
gone  below,  and  might  have  been  asleep  an  hour, 
when  Fleming  suddenly  entered  the  cabin  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The  skipper  sprang 
from  his  birth  with  the  habitual  readiness  of  a  sea 
man,  and  followed  his  mate  upon  deck,  w!:  re  he 
found  his  men  standing  to  their  arms,  and  watching 
an  object  that,  to  his  first  glance,  seemed  like  a  canoe 
sailing  down  upon  them  through  the  air.  The  rash 
homi  cide  drew  close  to  Hendrick  as  he  regarded  it? 


OONDER-HOOFDEN.  235 

and  the  chatter  of  his  teeth  betrayed  that  during  the 
long  and  anxious  watches  of  the  night,  his  conscience 
had  not  justified  him  for  the  hasty  death  he  had 
awarded  to  a  fellow  creature. 

"  She  but  looms  through  the  mist  !"  said  the  skip 
per,  after  regarding  the  advancing  object  for  a 
moment.  "  It  is  a  single  canoe,  and  can  scarce 
harm  us.  Let  her  come  alongside  !" 

The  natural  explanation  of  the  phenomenon  at 
once  satisfied  the  crew,  who  had  taken  their  super- 
stitous  fears  rather  from  Fleming's  evident  alarm 
than  from  their  own  want  of  reflection  ;  but  the 
guilty  man  himself  still  gazed  on  the  advancing 
phantom,  and  when  a  slight  stir  of  the  breeze  raised 
the  mist  like  the  corner  of  a  curtain,  and  dropped 
the  canoe  plain  upon  the  surface  of  the  river,  he 
turned  gloomily  on  his  heel,  and  muttered  in  an 
undertone  to  Hudson,  "  It  brings  no  good,  Skipper 
Hendrick !" 

Meanwhile  the  canoe  advanced  slowly.  The 
single  paddle  which  propelled  her  paused  before 
every  turn,  and  as  the  mist  lifted  quite  up  and  show 
ed  a  long  green  line  of  shore  between  its  shadowy 
fringe  and  the  water,  an  Indian,  highly  painted,  and 
more  ornamented  than  any  they  had  hitherto  seen, 
appeared  gazing  earnestly  at  the  vessel,  and  evident 
ly  approaching  with  fear  and  caution. 

The  Half-Moon  was  heading  up  the  river  witn 


236  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

the  rising  tide,  and  Hudson  walked  forward  to  the 
bows  to  look  at  the  savage  more  closely.  By  the 
eagle  and  bear,  so  richly  embroidered  in  the  gay- 
coloured  quills  of  the  porcupine  on  his  belt  of  wam 
pum,  he  presumed  him  to  be  a  chief;  and  glancing 
his  eye  into  the  canoe,  he  saw  the  pillow  which  had 
occasioned  the  death  of  the  plunderer  the  night 
before,  and  on  it  lay  two  ears  of  corn,  and  two 
broken  arrows.  Pausing  a  moment  as  he  drew 
near,  the  Indian  pointed  to  these  signs  of  peace,  and 
Hudson,  in  reply,  spread  out  his  open  hands  and 
beckoned  him  to  come  on  board.  In  an  instant  the 
slight  canoe  shot  under  the  starboard  bow,  and  with 
a  noble  confidence  which  the  skipper  remarked 
upon  with  admiration,  the  tall  savage  sprang  upon 
the  deck  and  laid  the  hand  of  the  commander  to 
his  breast. 

The  noon  arrived,  hot  and  sultry,  and  there  was 
no  likelihood  of  a  wind  till  sunset.  The  chief  had 
been  feasted  on  board,  and  had  shown,  in  his  delight, 
the  most^unequivocal  evidence  of  good  feeling;  and 
even  Fleming,  at  last,  who  had  drank  more  freely  than 
usual  during  the  morning,  abajadoned  his  suspicion, 
and  joined  in  amusing  the  superp  savage  who  was 
their  guest.  In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  another 
canoe  came  off,  paddled  by  a  single  young  woman, 
whom  Fleming,  recognised  as  having  accompanied 


OONDER-HOOFDEN. 


the  plunderers  the  night  before,  but  in  his  half-intox^ 
icated  state,  it  seemed  to  recall  none  of  his  previous 
bodings,  and  to  his  own  surprise,  and  that  of  the 
crew,  she  evidently  regarded  him  with  particulai 
favour,  and  by  pertinacious  and  ingenious  signs, 
endeavoured  to  induce  him  to  go  ashore  with  her 
in  the  canoe.  The  particular  character  of  her  face 
and  form  would  have  given  the  mate  a  clue  to  her 
probable  motives,  had  he  been  less  reckless  from  his 
excitement.  She  was  taller  than  is  common  for 
females  of  the  savage  tribes,  and  her  polished  limbs, 
as  gracefully  moulded  in  their  dark  hues  as  those  of 
the  mercury  of  the  fountain,  combined,  with  their 
slightness,  a  nerve  and  steadiness  of  action  which 
betrayed  strength  and  resolution  of  heart  and  frame. 
Her  face  was  highly  beautiful,  but  the  voluptuous 
fulness  of  the  lips  was  contradicted  by  a  fierce  fire 
in  her  night-  dark  eyes,  and  a  quickness  of  the  brow 
to  descend,  which  told  of  angry  passions  habitu 
ally  on  the  alert.  It  was  remarked  by  Hans  Chris- 
taern,  one  of  the  crew,  that  when  Fleming  left  her 
for  an  instant,  she  abstracted  herself  from  the  other 
joyous  groups,  and,  with  folded  arms  and  looks  of 
brooding  thoughtfulness,  stood  looking  over  the  stern  ; 
but  immediately  on  his  re-appearance,  her  snowy 
teeth  became  visible  between  her  relaxing  lips,  and 
she  resumed  her  patient  gaze  upon  his  countenance, 
and  her  occasionl  efforts  to  draw  him  into  the  canoe, 


238  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVfiL. 

Quite  regardless  of  the  presence  of  the  woman, 
the  chief  sat  apart  with  Hudson,  communicating  his 
ideas  by  intelligent  signs,  and  after  a  while,  the  skip 
per  called  his  mate,  and  informed  him  that,  as  far  as 
he  could  understand,  the  chief  wished  to  give  them 
a  feast  on  shore.  "  Arm  yourselves  well, "  said 
he,  "  though  I  look  for  no  treachery  from  this  noble 
pagan  ;  and  if  chance  should  put  us  in  danger,  we 
shall  be  more  tKan  a  match  for  the  whole  tribe. 
Come  with  me,  Fleming,"  he  continued,  after  a 
pause,  "  you  are  too  rash  with  your  fire-arms  to  be 
left  in  command.  Man  the  watch,  four  of  you, 
and  the  rest  get  into  the  long-boat.  We'll  while 
away  these  sluggish  hours,  though  danger  is  in  it." 

The  men  sprang  gaily  below  for  their  arms,  and 
were  soon  equipped  and  ready,  and  the  chief,  with 
an  expression  of  delight,  put  offin  his  canoe,  followed 
more  slowly  by  the  heavy  long-boat,  into  which 
Hudson,  having  given  particular  orders  to  the  watch 
to  let  no  savages  on  board  during  his  absence,  was 
the  last  to  embark.  The  woman,  whom  the  chief  had 
called  to  him  before  his  departure  by  the  name  of 
Kihyalee,  sped  off  before  in  her  swift  canoe  to  ano 
ther  point  of  the  shore,  and  when  Fleming  cried  out 
from  the  bow  of  the  boat,  impatiently  motioning  her 
to  follow,  she  smiled  in  a  manner  that  sent  a  momen 
tary  shudder  through  the  veins  of  the  skipper  who 
chanced  to  observe  the  action,  and  by  a  circular 


OONDER-HOOPDEN.  239 

movement  of  her  arm  conveyed  to  him  that  she 
should  meet  him  from  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  As 
they  followed  the  chief,  they  disco verd  the  wig 
wams  of  an  Indian  village  behind  the  rocky  point 
for  which  she  was  making,  and  understood  that  the 
chief  had  sent  her  thither  on  some  errand  connected 
with  his  proposed  hospitality. 

A  large  square  rock,  which  had  the  look  of  hav 
ing  been  hurled  with  some  avalanche  from  the 
mountain,  lay  in  the  curve  of  a  small  beach  of  sand, 
surrounded  by  the  shallow  water,  and,  on  the  left  of 
this,  the  chief  pointed  out  to  the  skipper  a  deeper 
channel,  hollowed  by  the  entrance  of  a  mountain* 
torrent  into  the  river,  through  which  he  might  bring 
his  boat  to  land.  At  the  edge  of  this  torrent's  bed, 
the  scene  of  the  first  act  of  hospitality  to  our  race 
upon  the  Hudson,  stands  at  this  day  the  gate  to  the 
most  hospitable  mansion  on  the  river,  as  if  the  spirit 
of  the  spot  had  consecrated  it  to  its  first  association 
with  the  white  man. 

The  chief  led  the  way  when  the  crew  had  disem 
barked,  by  a  path  skirting  the  deep-worn  bed  of  the 
torrent,  and  after  an  ascent  of  a  few  minutes,  through 
a  grove  of  tall  firs,  a  short  turn  to  the  left  brought 
them  upon  an  open  table  of  land,  a  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  above  the  river,  shut  in  by  a  circle  of  forest-trees, 
and  frowned  over  on  the  east  by  a  tall  and  bald  cliff, 
which  shot  up  in  a  perpendicular  line  to  the  height 


£40  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

of  three  hundred  feet.     From  a  cleft  in  the  face  of* 
this  precipice  a  natural  spring  oozed  forth,  drawing 
a  darker  line  down  the  sun-parched  rock,  and  feeding 
a  small  stream  that  found  its  way  to  the  river  on  the 
northern  side  of  the  platform  just  mentioned,  creating 
between  itself  and  the  deeper  torrent  to  the  south, 
a  sort  of  highland  peninsula,  now  constituting  the 
estate  of  the  hospitable  gentleman  above  alluded  to. 
Hudson  looked  around  him  with  delight  and  sur- 
piise  when  he  stood  on  the  highest  part  of  the  broad 
natural  table  selected  by  the  chief  for  his  entertain 
ment.     The  view  north  showed  a  cleft  through  the 
hills,  with  the  river  coiled  like  a  lake  in  its  widening 
bed,  while  a  blue  and  wavy  line  of  mountains  form 
ed  the  far  horizon  at  its  back  ;  south,  the  bold  eminen 
ces,  between  which  he  had  found  his  adventurous 
way,  closed  in  like  the  hollowed  sides  of  a  bright- 
green  vase,  with  glimpses  of  the  river  lying  in  its 
bottom  like  crystal;  below  him   descended  a   sharp 
and  wooded  bank,  with  the  river  at  its  foot,  and 
directly  opposite  rose  a  hill  in  a  magnificent  cone 
to  the  very  sky,  sending  its  shadow  down  through 
the  mirrored  water,  as  if  it  entered  to  some  inner 
world.       The  excessive  lavishness  of  the  foliage 
clothed  these  bold  natural  features  with  a  grace  and 
richness  altogether  capt'vating  to  the  senses,  and 
Hudson  long  stood,  gazing  around  him,  believing 
that  the  tales  of  brighter  and  happier  lands  were 


OONDER-HOOFDBN.  241 

truer  than  he  had  deemed,  and  that  it  was  his  lucky 
destiny  to  have  been  the  discoverer  of  a  future 
Utopia. 

A  little  later,  several  groups  of  Indians  were  seen 
advancing  from  the  village,  bearing  the  materials 
for  a  feast,  which  they  deposited  under  a  large  tree, 
indicated  by  the  chief.  It  was  soon  arranged,  and 
Hudson  with  his  men  surrounded  the  dishes  of  shell 
and  wood,  one  of  which,  placed  in  the  centre,  con 
tained  a  roasted  dog,  half  buried  in  Indian-corn. 
While  the  chief  and  several  of  his  warriors  sat  down 
in  company  with  the  whites,  the  young  men  danced 
the  calumet-dance  to  the  sound  of  a  rude  drum, 
formed  by  drawing  a  skin  tightly  over  a  wooden 
bowl,  and  near  them,  in  groups,  stood  the  women 
and  children  of  the  village,  glancing  with  looks  of 
curiosity  from  the  feats  of  the  young  men  to  the 
unaccustomed  faces  of  the  strangers. 

Among  the  women  stood  Kihyalee,  who  kept  her 
large  bright  eyes  fixed  almost  fiercely  upon  Fleming 
yet  when  he  looked  towards  her,  she  smiled  and 
turned  as  if  she  would  beckon  him  away —  a  bid 
ding  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  obey,  under  the  vi 
gilant  watch  of  his  master. 

The  feast  went  on,  and  the  Indians  having  pro 
duced  gourds,  filled  with  a  slight  intoxicating  liquor 
made  from  the  corn,  Hudson  offered  to  the  chief 
some  spirits  from  a  bottle  which  he  had  entrusted 
21 


242  ROBAWCE    OP    TRAVEL. 

to  one  of  the  men  to  wash  down  the  expected  rough 
ness  of  the  savage  viands.  The  bottle  passed  in 
turn  to  the  mate,  who  was  observed  to  drink  freely, 
and,  a  few  minutes  after,  Hudson  rising  to  see  more 
nearly  a  trial  of  skill  with  the  bow  and  arrow,  Flem 
ing  found  the  desired  opportunity,  and  followed  the 
tempting  Kihyalee  into  the  forest. 

The  sun  began  to  throw  the  shadows  of  the  tall 
pines  in  gigantic  pinnacles  along  the  ground  and  the 
youths  of  the  friendly  tribe,  who  had  entertained  the 
great  navigator,  ceased  from  their  dances  and  feats 
of  skill,  and  clustered  around  the  feast- tree.  Intend 
ing  to  get  under  weigh  with  the  evening  breeze  and 
proceed  still  farther  up  the  river,  Hudson  rose  to  col 
lect  his  men,  and  bid  the  chief  farewell.  Taking  the 
hand  of  the  majestic  savage  and  putting  it  to  his 
breast,  to  express  in  his  own  manner  the  kind  feel 
ings  he  entertained  for  him,  he  turned  toward  the 
path  by  which  he  came,  and  was  glancing  round  at 
his  men,  when  Hans  Christaern  enquired  if  he  had 
sent  the  mate  back  to  the  vessel. 

"  Der  teufel,  no  !"  answered  the  skipper,  missing 
him  for  the  first  time ;  "  has  he  been  long  gone  ?" 

"  A  full  hour !"  said  one  of  the  men. 

Hudson  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  remember- 
ed  the  deep  wroug  Fleming  had  done  to  the  tribe. 
Retribution,  he  feared,  had  over-taken  him — but 


OONDEE-HOPDBN.  243 

how  was  it  done  so  silently  ?  How  had  the  guilty 
man  been  induced  to  leave  his  comrades,  and  acce 
lerate  his  doom  by  his  own  voluntary  act? 

The  next  instant  resolved  the  question.  A  distant, 
and  prolonged  scream,  as  of  a  man  in  mortal  agony, 
drew  all  eyes  to  the  summit  of  the  beetling  cliff, 
which  overhung  them.  On  its  extremest  verge,  out 
lined  distinctly  against  the  sky,  stood  the  tall  figure  of 
Kihyalee,  holding  from  her,  yet  poised  over  the  pre 
cipice,  the  writhing  form  of  her  victim,  while  in  the 
other  hand,  flashing  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  glittered 
the  bright  hatchet  she  had  plucked  from  his  girdle. 
Infuriated  at  the  sight,  and  suspecting  collision  on 
the  part  of  the  chief,  Hudson  drew  his  cutlass  and 
gave  the  order  to  stand  to  arms,  but  as  he  turned? 
the  gigantic  savage  had  drawn  an  arrow  to  its  head 
with  incredible  force,  and  though  it  fell  far  short  of 
its  mark,  there  was  that  in  the  action  and  in  his  look 
which,  in  the  passing  of  a  thought,  changed  the  mind 
of  the  skipper.  In  another  instant,  the  hesitating 
arm  of  the  widowed  Kihyalee  descended,  and  loose- 
ening  her  hold  upon  the  relaxed  body  of  her  victim, 
the  doomed  mate  fell  heavily  down  the  face  of  the 
precipice. 

The  chief  turned  to  Hudson,  who  stood  trembling 
and  aghast  at  the  awful  scene,  and  plucking  the  re 
maining  arrows  from  his  quiver,  he  broke  them  and 
threw  himself  on  the  ground.  The  tribe  gathered 


244  ROMANCE     OP    TRAVEL. 

around  their  chief,  Hudson  moved  his  hand  to  them 
in  token  of  forgiveness,  and  in  a  melancholy  silence 
the  crew  took  their  way  after  him  to  the  shore. 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL, 


THE  PICKER  AND  FILER. 


The  nature  of  the  strange  incident  I  have  to  relate 
forbids  me  to  record  either  place  or  time. 

On  one  of  the  wildest  nights  in  which  I  had  ever 
been  abroad,  I  drove  my  panting  horses  through  a 
snow  drift  breast  high,  to  the  door  of  a  small  tavern 
in  the  western  country.  The  host  turned  out  un 
willingly  at  the  knock  of  my  whip  handle  on  the 
outer  door,  and,  wading,  before  the  tired  animals  to 
the  barn,  which  was  nearly  inaccessible  from  the 
banks  of  snow,  he  assisted  me  in  getting  off  their 
frozen  harnesses,  and  bestowing  them  safely  for  the 
night 

The  "bar-room"  fire  burnt  brightly, and  never  was 
fire  more  welcome.  Room  was  made  for  me  by 
four  or  five  rough  men  who  sat  silent  around  it,  and 


$4$  ROMANCE    OF*  TRAVEL, 

with  a  keen  comprehension  of  "  pleasure  after  pain, 
I  took  off  my  furs  and  moccasins,  and  streched  my 
cold  contracted  limbs  to  the  blaze.  When,  a  few 
minutes  after,  a  plate  of  cold  salt  beef  was  brought 
hie,  with  a  corn  cake  and  a  mug  of  "  flip"  hissing 
from  the  poker,  it  certainly  would  have  been  hard  to 
convince  me  that  I  would  have  put  on  my  coats  and 
moccasins  again  to  have  ridden  a  mile  to  Paradise* 

The  faces  pf  my  new  companions,  which  I  had 
not  found  time  to  inspect  very  closely  while  my  sup 
per  lasted,  were  fully  revealed  by  the  light  of  a  pitch- 
pine  knot,  thrown  on  the  hearth  by  the  landlord' 
and  their  grim  reserve  and  ferocity  put  me  in  mind* 
for  the  first  time  since  I  had  entered  the  room,  of  my 
errand  in  that  quarter  of  the  country. 

The  timber-tracts  which  lie  convenient  to  the 
rivers  of  the  west,  offer  to  the  refugee  and  desperado 
of  every  description,  a  resource  from  want,  and,  (in 
their  own  opinion,)  from  crime,  which  is  seized  upon 
by  aH  at  least  who  are  willing  to  labour.  The  own 
ers  of  the  extensive  forests,  destined  to  -  become  so 
valuable,  are  mostly  men  of  large  speculation,  living 
in  citeis,  who>  satisfied  with  the  constant  advance.-in 
the  price  of  lumber,  consider  their  pine-trees  as  liable 
to  nothing  but  the  laws  of  nature,  and  leave  them 
unfenced  and  unprotected,  to  increase  in  size  and 
value  till  the  land  beneath  them  is  wanted  for  culture, 
It  is  natural  enough  that  solitary  settlers,  living  in  the 


TUB    PICKER    A  X  D    FILER.  249 

neighborhood  of  miles  of  apparently  unclaimed  land, 
should  think  seldom  of  the  owner,  and  in  time  grow 
to  the  opinion  of  the  Indian,  that  the  Great  Spirit 
gave  the  land,  the  air,  and  the  water,  to  all  his 
children,  and  they  are  free  to  all  alike.  Furnishing 
the  requisite  teams  and  implements  therefore,  the 
inhabitants  of  these  tracts  collect  a  number  of  the 
stragglers  through  the  country,  and  forming  what 
is  called  a  "  bee,"  go  into  the  nearest  woods,  and 
for  a  month  or  more,  work  laboriously  at  selecting, 
•  and  felling  the  tallest  and  straightest  pines.  In  their 
rude  shanty  at  night  they  have  bread,  pork,  and 
whiskey,  which  hard  labour  makes  sufficiently  palat 
able,  and  the  time  is  passed  merrily  till  the  snow  is 
right  for  sledding.  The  logs  are  then  drawn  to  the 
water  sides,  rafts  are  formed,  and  the  valuable 
lumber,  for  which  they  paid  nothing  but  their  labour, 
is  run  to  the  cites  for  their  common  advantage. 

The  only  enemies  of  this  class  of  men  are  the  agents 
who  are  sometimes  sent  out  in  the  winter  to  detect 
them  in  the  act  of  felling  or  drawing  off  timber,  and 
in  the  dark  countenances  around  the  fire,  I  read  this 
as  the  interpretation  of  my  own  visit  to  the  woods. 
They  soon  brightened  and  grew  talkative  when  they 
discovered  that  I  was  in  search  of  hands  to  fell  and 
burn,  and  make  clearing  for  a  farm ;  and  after  a 
talk  of  an  hour  or  two,  I  was  told  in  answer  to  my 
inquiries,  that  all  the"  men  people"  in  the  country 


250  ROMANCE    OF   TEAVEL. 

were  busy  "lumbering  for  themselves,"  unless  it 
were the  "  Picker  and  Filer." 

As  the  words  were  pronounced,  a  shrill  neigh 
outside  the  door  pronounced  the  arrival  of  a  new 
comer. 

"  Talk  of  the  devil" — said  the  man  in  a  lower  tone, 
and  without  finishing  the  proverb  he  rose  with  a 
respect  which  he  had  not  accorded  to  me,  to  make 
room  for  the  Picker  and  Piler. 

A  man  of  rather  low  stature  entered,  and  turned  to 
drive  back  his  horse,  who  had  followed  him  nearly 
in.  I  observed  that  the  animal  had  neither  saddle 
uor  bridle.  Shutting  the  door  upon  him  without 
violence,  he  exchanged  nods  with  one  or  two  of  the 
men,  and  giving  the  landlord  a  small  keg  which  he 
had  brought,  he  pleaded  haste  for  refusing  the 
offered  chair,  and  stood  silent  by  the  fire.  His  fea 
tures  were  blackened  with  smoke,  but  I  could  see 
that  they  were  small  and  regular,  and  his  voice, 
though  it  conveyed  in  its  deliberate  accents  an 
indefinable  resolution,  was  almost  femininely  soft 
and  winning. 

"  That  stranger  yonder  has  got  a  job  for  you, " 
said  the  landlord,  as  he  gave  him  back  the  keg  and 
received  the  money. 

Turning  quickly  upon  me,  he  detected  me  in  a 
very  eager  scrunity  of  himself,  and  for  a  moment  I 
was  thrown  too  much  off  my  guard  to  address  him. 


THE    PICKER    AND    FILER.  251 

"  Is  it  you,  sir  ?"  he  asked,  after  waiting  a  mo 
ment. 

''  Yes, — I  have  some  work  to  be  done  hereabouts, 
but — you  seem  in  a  hurry.  Could  you  call  here  to 
morrow." 

"  I  may  not  be  here  again  in  a  week." 

"  Do  you  live  far  from  here  ?"    He  smiled. 

"  I  scarce  know  where  I  live,  but  I  am  burning  a 
piece  of  wood  a  mile  or  two  up  the  run,  and  if  you 
would  like  a  warmer  bed  than  the  landlord  will  give 
you — " 

That  personage  decided  the  question  for  me  by 
telling  me  in  so  many  words  that  I  had  better  go. 
His  beds  were  all  taken  up,  and  my  horses  should 
be  taken  care  of  till  my  return.  I  saw  that  my  pre 
sence  had  interrupted  something,  probably  the  for. 
mation  of  a  "  bee,"  and  more  willingly  than  I  would 
have  believed  possible  an  hour  before,  I  resumed  my 
furs  and  wrappers,  and  declared  that  I  was  ready. 
The  Picker  and  Filer  had  inspired  me,  and  I  knew 
not  why,  with  an  involuntary  respect  and  liking. 

"  It  is  a  rough  night,  sir,"  said  he,  as  he  shoulder 
ed  a  rifle  he  had  left  outside,  and  slung  the  keg  by 
a  leather  strap  over  the  neck  of  his  horse,  "but  I 
will  soon  show  you  a  better  climate.  Come,  sir, 
jump  on !" 

"And  you?"  I  said  inquisitively,  as  he  held  his 
horse  by  the  mane  for  me  to  mount.  It  was  a 


252  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

Canadian  pony,  scarce  larger  than  a  Newfoundland 
dog. 

"  I  am  more  used  to  the  road,  sir,  and  will  walk. 
Come?" 

"  It  was  no  time  to  stand  upon  etiquette,  even  if 
it  had  been  possible  to  resist  the  strange  tone  of 
authority  with  which  he  spoke.  So  without  more 
ado,  I  sprang  upon  the  animal's  back,  and  holding 
on  by  the  long  tuft  upon  his  withers,  suffered  him 
passively  to  plunge  through  the  drift  after  his 
master. 

Wondering  at  the   readiness  with  which  I  had 
entered  upon  this  equivocal  adventure,  but  never  for 
an  instant  losing  confidence  in  my  guide,  I  shut  my 
eyes  to  the  blinding  cold,  and  accommodating  my 
limbs  as  well  as  I  could  to  the  bare  back  and  scram 
bling  paces  of  the   Canadian.      The   Picker   and 
Filer  strode  on  before,  the  pony  following  like  a 
spaniel  at  his  heels,  and  after  a  half  hour's  tramp, 
during  which  I  had  merely  observed  that  we  were 
rounding  the  base  of  a  considerable  hill,  we  turned 
short  to  the  right,  and  were  met  by  a  column  of 
smoke,  which,  lifting,  the  moment  after,  disclosed 
the  two  slopes  of  a  considerable  valley  enveloped 
in  one  sea  of  fire.     A  red,  lurid  cloud,  overhung  it 
at  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees,  and  far  and  wide, 
above  that,  spread  a  covering  of  black  smoke,  heav 
ing  upward  in  vast  and  billowy  masses,  and  rolling 
away  on  every  side  into  the  darkness. 


THE    PICKER    AND    FILER.  253 

We  approached  a  pine  of  gigantic  height,  on  fire 
to  the  very  peak,  not  a  branch  left  on  the  trunk, 
and  its  pitchy  knots  distributed  like  the  eyes  of  the 
lamprey,  burning  pure  and  steady  amid  the  irregu 
lar  flame.  I  had  once  or  twice,  with  an  instinctive 
wish  to  draw  rein,  pulled  hard  upon  the  tangled 
tuft  in  my  hand,  but  master  and  horsa*  kept  on. 
This  burning  tree,  however,  was  the  first  of  a  thou 
sand,  and  as  the  pony  turned  his  eyes  away  from 
the  intense  heat  to  pass  between  it  and  a  bare  rock, 
I  glanced  into  the  glowing  labyrinth  beyond,  and 
my  faith  gave  way.  I  jumped  from  his  back  and 
hailed  the  Picker  and  Filer,  with  a  halloo  scarcely 
audible  amid  the  tumult  of  the  crackling  branches* 
My  voice  did  not  evidently  reach  his  ear,  but  the 
pony,  relieved  from  my  weight,  galloped  to  his  side, 
and  rubbed  his  muzzle  against  the  unoccupied  hand 
of  his  master. 

He  turned  back  immediately.  "  I  beg  pardon," 
he  said,  "I  have  that  to  think  of  just  now  which 
makes  me  forgetful.  I  am  not  surprised  at  your 
hesitation,  but  mount  again  and  trust  the  pony." 

The  animal  turned  rather  unwillingly  at  his  mas 
ter's  bidding,  and  a  little  ashamed  of  having  shown 
fear,  while  a  horse  would  follow,  I  jumped  again 
on  his  back. 

"  If  you  find  the  heat  inconvienent,  cover  your 
face."     And  with  this  laconic  advice,  the  Picker 
22 


254 


ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 


and  Filer  turned  on  his  heel,  and  once  more  strode 
away  before  us. 

Sheltering  the  sides  of  my  face  by  holding  up  the 
corners  of  my  wrapper  with  both  hands,  I  aban 
doned  myself  to  the  horse.     He  overtook  his  master 
with  a  shuffling  canter,  and   putting  his   nose  ag 
close  to  the  ground  as  he  could  carry  it  without 
stumbling,  followed  closely  at  his  heels.    I  observed, 
by  the  green  logs  lying  immediately  along  our  path, 
that   we  were  following    an  avenue  of   prostrate 
timber  which  had  been  felled  before  the  wood  was 
fired ;   but   descending   presently   to   the   left,   we 
,  struck  at  once  into  the  deep  bed  of  a  brook,   and 
by  the  lifted   head  and  slower  gait  of  the  pony,  as 
well  as  my  own  easier  respiration,  I  found  that  the" 
hollow  through   which   it  ran,   contained   a  body 
of  pure  air  unreached  by  the  swaying  curtains  of 
smoke  or  the  excessive  heat  of  the  fiery  currents 
above.     The  pony  now  picked  his  way  leisurely 
along  the  brookside,  and  while  my  lungs  expanded 
with   the  relief  of   breathing   a   more   temperate 
atmosphere,  I  raised  myself  from  my  stooping  post 
ure  in  a  profuse  perspiration,  and  one  by  one  disem- 
barassed  myself  from  my  protectives  against  the 
cold. 

I  had  lost  sight  for  several  minutes  of  the  Picker 
and  Filer,  and  presumed  by  the  pony's  desultory 
movements  that  he  was  near  the  end  of  his  journey  y 


THE    PICKER    AND    PILBR. 

when,  rounding  a  shelvy  point  of  rock,  we  stood 
suddenly  upon  the  brink  of  a  slight  waterfall,  where 
the  brook  leaped  four  or  five  feet  into  a  shrunken 
dell,  and  after  describing  a  half  circle  on  a  rocky 
platform,  resumed  its  onward  course  in  the  same 
direction  as  before.     This  curve  of  the  brook  and 
the  platform  it  enclosed  lay  lower  than  the  general 
level  of  the  forest,  and  the  air  around  and  within  it, 
it  seemed  to  me,  was  as  clear  and   genial  as  the 
summer  noon.     Over  one  side,  from  the  rocky  wall, 
a  rude  and  temporary  roof  of  pine  slabs  drooped 
upon  a  barricade  of  logs,  forming  a  low  hut,  and 
before  the  entrance  of  this,  at  the  moment  of  my 
appearance,  stood  a  woman  and  a  showily  dressed 
young  man,  both  evidently  confused  at  the  sudden 
apparition  of  the  Picker  and  Filer.     My  eyes  had 
scarce  rested  on  the  latter,  when,  from  standing  at 
his  fullest  height  with  his  rifle  raised  as  if  to  beat 
the  other  to  the  earth,  he   suddenly  resumed  his 
stooping   and  quiet   mien,  set  his  rifle  against   the 
rock,  and   came   forward   to  give   me   his   hand. 
"  My  daughter !"    he  said,  more  in  the  way  of 
explanation  than  introduction,  and  without  taking 
further  notice  of  the  young  man   whose  presence 
seemed  so  unwelcome,  he  poured   me  a   draught 
from  the  keg  he  had  brought,  pointed  to  the  water 
falling  close  at  my  hand,  and  threw  himself  at  his 
length  upon  the  ground. 


256  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

The  face  and  general  appearance  of  the  young 
man,  now  seated  directly  opposite  me,  offered  no 
temptation  for  more  than  a  single  glance,  and  my 
whole  attention  was  soon  absorbed  by  the  daughter 
of  my  singular  host,  who,  crossing  from  the  plat 
form  to  the  hut,  divided  her  attention  between  a 
haunch  of  venison  roasting  before  a  burning  log  of 
hickory,  and  the  arrangement  of  a  few  most  primi 
tive  implements  for  our  coming  supper.  She  was 
slight,  like  her  father,  in  form,  and  as  far  as  I  had 
been  able  to  distinguish  his  blackened  features, 
resembled  him  in  the  general  outline.  But  in  the 
place  of  his  thin  and  determined  mouth,  her  lips  were 
round  and  voluptuous,  and  though  her  eye  looked 
as  if  it  might  wake,  it  expressed,  even  in  the  pre 
sence  of  her  moody  father,  a  drowsy  and  soft  indo 
lence,  common  enough  to  the  Asiatics,  but  seldom 
seen  in  America.  Her  dress  was  coarse  and 
careless,  but  she  was  beautiful  with  every  possible 
disadvantage,  and,  whether  married  or  not,  evi 
dently  soon  to  become  a  mother. 

The  venison  was  placed  before  us  on  the  rock, 
and  the  young  man,  uninvited,  and  with  rather  an 
air  of  bravado,  cut  himself  a  steak  from  the  haunch 
and  broiled  it  on  the  hickory  coals,  while  the  daugh 
ter  kept  as  near  him  as  her  attention  to  her  father's 
wants  would  permit,  but  neither  joined  us  in  eating, 
nor  encouraged  my  attempts  at  conversation.  The 


THE    PICKER    AND    P  I  L  E  R.  257 

Picker  and  Filer  ate  in  silence,  leaving  me  to  be 
my  own  carver,  and  finishing  his  repast  by  a  deep 
draught  from  the  keg  which  had  been  the  means  of 
our  acquaintance,  he  sprang  upon  his  feet  and  dis- 
ppaeared. 

"The  wind  has  changed,"  said  the  daughter, 
looking  up  at  the  smoke,  "  and  he  has  gone  to  the 
western  edge  to  start  a  new  fire.  It's  a  full  half 
mile,  and  he'll  be  gone  an  hour." 

This  was  said  with  a  look  at  me  which  was  any 
thing  but  equivocal.  I  was  de  trop.  I  took  up  the 
rifle  of  the  Picker  and  Piler,  forgetting  that  there 
was  probably  nothing  to  shoot  in  a  burning  wood, 
and  remarking  that  I  would  have  a  look  for  a  deer, 
jumped  up  the  water-fall  side,  and  was  immediately 
hidden  by  the  rocks. 

I  had  no  conception  of  the  scene  that  lay  around 
me.  The  natural  cave  or  hollow  of  rock  in  which 
the  hut  lay  embosomed,  was  the  centre  of  an  area 
of  perhaps  an  acre,  which  had  been  felled  in  the 
heart  of  the  wood  before  it  was  set  on  fire.  The 
forest  encircled  it  with  blazing  columns,  whose 
capitals  were  apparently  lost  in  the  sky,  and  cur 
tains  of  smoke  and  flame,  which  flew  as  if  lashed 
into  ribands  by  a  whirlwind.  The  grandeur,  the 
violence,  the  intense  brightness  of  the  spectacle, 
outran  all  imagination.  The  pines,  on  fire  to  the 
peak,  and  straight  as  arrows,  seemed  to  resemble, 
22* 


258  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

at  one  moment  the  conflagration  of  an  eastern  city, 
with  innumerable  minarets  abandoned  to  the  de 
vouring  element.  At  the  next  moment,"  the  wind, 
changing  its  direction,  swept  out  every  vestige  of 
smoke,  and  extinguished  every  tongue  of  flame, 
and  the  tall  trees,  in  clear  and  flameless  ignition, 
standing  parallel  in  thousands,  resembled  some 
blinding  temple  of  the  genii,  whose  columns  of 
miraculous  rubies,  sparkling  audibly,  outshone  the 
day.  By  single  glances,  my  eye  penetrated  into 
aisles  of  blazing  pillars,  extending  far  into  the  forest, 
and  the  next  instant,  like  a  tremendous  surge 
alive  with  serpents  of  fire,  the  smoke  and  flame 
swept  through  it,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  some 
glorious  structure  had  been  consumed  in  the  passing 
of  a  thought.  For  a  minute,  again,  all  would  be 
still  except  the  crackling  of  the  fibres  of  the  wood, 
and  with  the  first  stir  of  the  wind,  like  a  shower  of 
flashing  gems,  the  bright  coals  rained  down 
through  the  forest,  and  for  a  moment  the  earth 
glowed  under  the  trees  as  if  its  whole  crust  were 
alive  with  one  bright  ignition^ 

With  the  pungency  of  the  smoke  and  heat,  and 
the  variety  and  bewilderment  of  the  spectacle,  I 
found  my  eyes  and  brain  growing  giddy.  The 
brook  ran  cool  below,  and  the  heat  had  dried  the 
leaves  in  the  small  clearing,  and  with  the  abandon 
ment  of  a  man  overcome  with  the  sultriness  of 


THE    PICKER    AND    FILER.  259 

summer,  I  lay  down  on  the  rivulet's  bank,  and 
dipped  my  head  and  bathed  my  eyes  in  the  running 
water.  Close  to  its  surface  there  was  not  a  parti 
cle  of  smoke  in  the  air,  and,  exceedingly  refreshed 
with  its  temperate  coolness,  I  lay  for  sometime  in 
luxurious  ease,  trying  in  vain  to  fancy  the  winter 
that  howled  without.  Frost  and  cold  were  never 
more  difficult  to  realize  in  midsummer,  though 
within  a  hundred  rods,  probably,  a  sleeping  man 
would  freeze  to  death  in  an  hour. 

"I  have  a  better  bed  for  you  in  the  shanty,"  said 
the  Picker  and  Filer,  who  had  approached  unheard 
in  the  noise  of  the  fires,  and  suddenly  stood  over 
me. 

He  took  up  his  rifle,  which  I  had  laid  against  a 
prostrate  log,  and  looked  anxiously  towards  the 
descent  to  the  hut. 

"  I  am  little  inclined  for  sleep,"  I  answered,  "  and 
perhaps  you  will  give  me  an  hour  of  conversation 
here.  The  scene  is  new  to  me" — 

"I  have  another  guest  to  dispose  of,"  he  ans 
wered,  "  and  we  shall  be  more  out  of  the  smoke 

near  the  shanty." 

I   was   not    surprised,   as    I  jumped    upon   the 

platform,  to  find  him  angrily  separating  his  daugh 
ter  and  the  stranger.  The  girl  entered  the  hut, 
and  with  a  decisive  gesture,  he  pointed  the  young 
man  to  a  "  shake-down"  of  straw  in  the  remotest 
corner  of  the  rocky  enclosure. 


260  ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

"With  your  leave,  old  gentleman,"  said  the 
intruder,  after  glancing  at  his  intended  place  of 
repose,  "  I'll  find  a  crib  for  myself."  And  springing 
up  the  craggy  rock  opposite  the  door  of  the  shanty 
he  gathered  a  slight  heap  of  brush,  and  threw  it 
into  a  hollow  left  in  the  earth  by  a  tree,  which, 
though  full  grown  and  green,  had  been  borne  to  the 
earth  and  partly  uprooted  by  the  falling  across  it  of 
an  overblown  and  gigantic  pine.  The  earth  and 
stones  had  followed  the  uptorn  mass,  forming  a 
solid  upright  wall,  from  which,  like  struggling 
fingers,  stretching  back  in  agony  to  the  ground 
from  which  they  had  parted,  a  few  rent  and  naked 
roots  pointed  into  the  cavity.  The  sequel  will 
show  why  I  am  so  particular  in  this  description. 

"When  peace  was  declared  between  England 
and  this  country,"  said  the  Picker  and  Filer  (after 
an  hour's  conversation,  which  had  led  insensibly  to 
his  own  history,)  1  was  in  command  of  a  privateer. 
Not  choosing  to  become  a  pirate,  by  continuing  the 
cruise,  I  was  set  ashore  in  the  West  Indies  by  a 
crew  in  open  mutiny.  My  property  was  all  on 
board,  and  I  was  left  a  beggar.  I  had  one  child,  a 
daughter,  whose  mother  died  in  giving  her  birth. 

"  Having  left  a  sufficient  sum  for  her  education 
in  the  hands  of  a  brother  of  my  own,  under  whose 
roof  she  had  passed  the  first  years  of  her  life,  I 
determined  to  retrieve  my  fortunes  before  she  or- 


THE    PICKER    AND    FILER.  261 

my  friends  should  be  made  acquainted  with  my 
disaster. 

•*  Ten  years  passed  over,  and  I  was  still  a  wand 
erer  and  a  beggar. 

"I  determined  to  see  my  child,  and  came  back, 
like  one  from  the  dead,  to  my  brother's  door.  He 
had  forgotten  me,  and  abused  his  trust.  My 
daughter,  then  seventeen,  and  such  as  you  see  her 
here,  was  the  drudge  in  the  family  of  a  stranger — 
ignorant  and  friendless.  My  heart  turned  against 
mankind  with  this  last  drop  in  a  bitter  cup,  and, 
unfitted  for  quiet  life,  I  looked  around  for  some 
channel  of  desperate  adventure.  But  my  daughter 
was  the  perpetual  obstacle.  What  to  do  with  her? 
She  had  neither  the  manners  nor  the  education  of  a 
lady,  and  to  leave  her  a  servant  was  impossible.  I 
started  with  her  for  the  West,  with  the  vague 
design  of  joining  some  tribe  of  Indians,  and  chance 
and  want  have  thrown  me  into  the  only  mode  of 
life  on  earth  that  could  now  be  palatable  to  me." 

"  Is  it  not  lonely,"  I  asked,  "  after  your  stirring 
adventures  ?" 

"  Lonely  !  If  you  knew  the  delight  with  which  I 
live  in  the  wilderness,  with  a  circle  of  fire  to  shut 
out  the  world !  The  labour  is  hard  it  is  true,  but  I 
need  it,  to  sleep  and  forget.  There  is  no  way  else 
in  which  I  could  seclude  my  daughter.  Till  lately, 
ihe  has  been  contented,  too.  We  live  a  month 


ROMANCE   OF    TRAVEL. 

together  in  one  place — the  centre  like  this  of  a  burn 
ing  wood.  I  can  bear  hardship,  but  I  love  a  high 
temperature — the  climate  of  the  tropics — and  I  have 
it  here.  For  weeks  I  forget  that  it  is  winter,  tend 
ing  my  fires  and  living  on  the  game  I  have  stored 
up.  There  is  a  hollow  or  a  brook — a  bed  or  a 
cave,  in  every  wood,  where  the  cool  air,  as  here, 
sinks  to  the  bottom,  and  there  I  can  put  up  my 
shanty,  secure  from  all  intrusion— but  such  as  I 
bring  upon  myself." 

The  look  he  gave  to  the  uprooted  ash  and  the 
sleeper  beneath  it,  made  an  apology  for  this  last 
clause  unnecessary.  He  thought  not  of  me. 

"  Some  months  since,"  continued  the  Picker  and 
Filer,  in  a  voice  husky  with  suppressed  feeling,  "  I 
met  the  villain  who  sleeps  yonder,  accidentally,  as  I 
met  you.  He  is  the  owner  of  this  land.  After 
engaging  to  clear  and  burn  it,  I  invited  him,  as  I 
did  yourself,  from  a  momentary  fever  for  company 
which  sometimes  comes  over  the  solitary,  to  go 
with  me  to  the  fallow  I  was  clearing.  He  loitered 
in  the  neighborhood  awhile,  under  pretext  of  hunt 
ing,  and  twice  on  my  return  from  the  village,  I 
found  that  my  daughter  had  seen  him.  Time  has 
betrayed  the  wrong  he  inflicted  on  me. 

The  voice  of  the  agitated  father  sank  almost  to 
a  whisper  as  he  pronounced  the  last  few  words, 
and,  rising  from  the  rock  on  which  we  were  sitting, 


THE    PICKER    AND    FILER.  263 

he  paced  for  a  few  minutes  up  and  down  the  plat 
form  in  silence. 

The  reader  must  fill  up  from  his  own  imagination 
the  drama  of  which  this  is  but  the  outline,  for  the 
Picker  and  Filer  was  not  a  man  to  be  questioned, 
and  I  can  tell  but  what  I  saw  and  heard.  In  the 
narration  of  his  story  he  seemed  but  recapitulating 
the  prominent  events  for  his  own  self-converse, 
rather  than  attempting  to  tell  a  tale  to  me,  and  it 
was  hurried  over  as  brokenly  and  briefly  as  I  have 
put  it  down.  I  sat  in  a  listening  attitude  after  he 
concluded,  but  he  seemed  to  have  unburthened  his- 
bosom  sufficiently,  and  his  lips  were  closed  with 
stern  compression. 

"  You  forget,"  he  said,  after  pacing  awhile,  "  that 
I  offered  you  a  place  to  sleep.  The  night  wears 
late.  Stretch  yourself  on  that  straw,  with  your 
cloak  over  you.  Good  night !" 

I  lay  down  and  looked  up  at  the  smoke  rolling 
hca-vily  into  the  sky  till  I  slept. 

I  awoke,  feeling  chilled,  for  the  rock  sheltered  me 
from  the  rays  of  the  fire.  1  stepped  out  from  the 
hollow.  The  fires  were  pale  with  the  gray  of  the 
morning,  and  the  sky  was  visible  through  the  smoke. 
I  looked  around  for  a  place  to  warm  myself. 
The  hickory  log  had  srriouldered  out,  but  a  fire 
had  been  kindled  under  the  overblown  pine,  aid 
its  pitchy  heart  was  now  flowing  with  the  steady 


264  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

brilliancy  of  a  torch.  I  took  up  one  of  its  broken 
branches,  cracked  it  on  my  knee,  and  stirring  up 
the  coals  below,  soon  sent  up  a  merry  blaze,  which 
enveloped  the  whole  trunk. 

Turning  my  back  to  the  increasing  heat,  I 
started,  for,  creeping  to  vvards  me,  with  a  look  of 
eagerness  for  which  I  was  at  a  loss  to  account, 
came  the  Picker  and  Filer. 

"  Twice  doomed !"  he  muttered  between  his 
teeth,  "  but  not  by  me !" 

He  threw  down  a  handful  of  pitch  pine  knots, 
laid  his  axe  against  a  burning  tree,  and  with  a 
branch  of  hemlock,  swept  off  the  flame  from  the 
spot  where  the  fire  was  eating  through,  as  if  to  see 
how  nearly  it  was  divided. 

I  began  to  think  him  insane,  for  I  could  get  no 
answer  to  my  questions,  and  when  he  spoke,  it  was 
half  audible,  and  with  his  eyes  turned  from  me 
fixedly.  I  looked  in  the  same  direction,  but  could 
see  nothing  remarkable.  The  seducer  slept  sound 
ly  beneath  his  matted  wall,  and  the  rude  door  of  the 
shanty  was  behind  us.  Leaving  him  to  see  phan 
toms  in  the  air,  as  I  thought,  I  turned  my  eyes  to 
the  drips  of  the  waterfall,  and  was  absorbed  in 
memories  of  my  own,  when  I  saw  the  girl  steal 
from  the  shanty,  and  with  one  bound  overleap  the 
rfcky  barrier  of  the  platform.  I  laid  my  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  my  host,  and  pointed  after  her,  as 

. 


THE   PICKER    AND   FILER*  265 

with  stealthy  pace  looking  back  occasionally  to  the 
hut,  where  she  evidently  thought  her  father  slept, 
she  crept  round  toward  her  lover. 

"He  dies !"  cried  the  infuriated  man;  but  as  he 
jumped  from  me  to  seize  his  axe,  the  girl  crouched 
out  of  sight,  and  my  own  first  thought  was  to 
awake  the  sleeper.  I  made  two  bounds  and  look 
ed  back,  for  I  heard  no  footstep. 

"  Stand  clear!"  shouted  a  voice  of  almost  super 
natural  shrillness!  and  as  I  caught  sight  of  the 
Picker  and  Filer  standing  enveloped  in  smoke  upon 
the  bnrning  tree,  with  his  axe  high  in  the  air,  the 
trnth  flashed  on  me. 

Down  came  the  axe  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
pitchy  flame,  and  trembling  with  the  tremendous 
smoke,  the  trunk  slowly  bent  upwards  from  the  fire. 

The  Picker  and  Piler  sprang  clear,  the  overborne 
ash  creaked  and  heaved,  and  With  a  sick  giddiness 
in  my  eyes,  I  look  at  the  unwarned  sleeper. 

One  half  of  the  dissevered  pine  fell  to  the  earth, 
and  the  shock  startled  him  from  his  sleep.  A 
whole  age  seemed  to  me  elapsing  while  the  other 
rose  with  the  slow  lift  of  the  ash.  As  it  slid  heavi 
ly  away,  the  vigorous  tree  righted,  like  a  giant 
springing  to  his  feet.  I  saw  the  root  pin  the  hand 
of  the  seducer  to  the  earth— a  struggle — a  contor 
tion  and  the  leafless  and  waving  top  of  the  fecov^ 
ered  and  upright  tree  rocked  with  its  effort,  and  a 


266  ROMANCE     OP    fttAVEL. 

long,  sharp  cry  had  gone  out  echoing  through  the 
woods,  and  was  still.    I  felt  my  brain  reel 

Blanched  to  a  livid  paleness,  the  girl  moved 
about  in  the  sickly  daylight  when  I  recovered ;  but 
the  Picker  and  Filer,  with  a  clearer  brow  thaft  I 
had  yet  seen  him  wear,  was  kindling  fires  beneath 
the  remnants  of  the  pine. 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL. 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 


"  One-p'un'-five  outside,  sir,  two  pun'  in." 
It  was  a  bright,  calm  afternoon  in  September, 
promising  nothing  but  a  morrow  of  sunshine  and 
autumn,  when  I  stepped  in  at  the  "White-Horse 
cellar,"  in  Piccadilly,  to  take  my  place  in  the 
Tantivy  coach  for  Stratford-on-Avon.  Preferring 
the  outside  of  the  coach,  at  least  by  as  much 
as  the  difference  in  the  prices,  and  accustomed  from 
long  habit  to  pay  dearest  for  that  which  most 
pleased  me,  I  wrote  myself  down  for  the  outside, 
and  deposited  my  two  pound  in  the  horny  palm  of 
the  old  ex-coachman,  retired  from  the  box,  and 
playing  clerk  in  this  dingy  den  of  parcels  and  port 
manteaus.  Supposing  my  buisness  concluded,  \ 
stood  a  minute  speculating  on  the  weather-beaten, 
23* 


$70  ROM  A  NOB     OF     T1AVBL. 

cramp-handed  old  Jehu  before  me,  and  trying  to 
reconcile  his  ideas  of  "retirement  from  office* 
with  those  of  his  almost  next  door  neighbour,  the 
hero  of  Strathfieldsaye,  He  was  at  least  as  "soft 
a  gentleman"  to  look  at  as  the  duke;  but  compare 
his  crammed  and  noisesome  cellar  with  the  lordly 
parks  and  spacious  domains  of  a  king's  bounty ! 
Yet  for  the  mere  courage  of  the  man,  there  are 
exigencies  in  the  life  of  a  coachman  that  require  as 
much  as  might  have  served  his  grace  at  Waterloo . 
The  broad  rimmed  beaver  set  knowingly  on  the 
ex-Jehu's  forehead,  forebade  a  comparison  between 
their  sculls. 

I  had  mounted  the  first  stair  toward  daylight, 
when  a  touch  on  the  shoulder  with  the  end  of  a 
long  whip — a  technical  "reminder,"  which  proba 
bly  came  easier  to  the  old  driver  than  the  phrasing 
of  a  sentence  to  a  "  gemman  "-recalled  me  to  the 
cellar. 

"Fifteen  shillin',  sir,"  said  he  laconically,  pointing 
with  the  same  expressive  exponent  of  his  profession 
to  the  change  for  my  out  side  place,  which  I  had 
left  lying  on  the  counter. 

"  You  are  at  least  as  honest  as  the  duke,"  I  soli 
loquized,  as  I  pocketed  the  six  bright  and  substan 
tial  half-crowns, "  and  if  a  long  life  of  honesty  and 
courage  are  to  be  rewarded  but  with  a  seat  in  a 
gloomy  cellar,  while  the  addition  of  brain- work  to 


BTE  ATPO1D-OK-A  V  O  If .  571 

these  is  paid  with  the  princely  possessions  of  a 
duke,  there  is  a  mistake  somewhere  in  the  scale  of 
merit." 

I  was  at  the  White-Horse  cellar  again  the  fol 
lowing  morning  at  six,  promising  myself  with  great 
sincerity  never  to  rely  again  on  the  constancy  of 
an  English  sky.  It  rained  in  torrents.  The  four 
inside  places  were  all  taken,  and  with  twelve 
fellow-outsides,  I  mounted  to  the  wet  seat,  and 
begging  a  little  straw  by  way  of  cushion  from  the 
ostler,  spread  my  umbrella/abandoned  my  knees 
with  a  single  effort  of  mind  to  the  drippings  of  the 
driver's  weather-  proof  upper  Benjamin,  and  away 
we  sped.  I  was  "  due"  at  the  house  of  a  hospitable 
old  Catholic  Baronet,  a  hundred  and  two  miles 
from  London,  at  the  dinner-hour  of  that  day,  and 
to  wait  till  it  had  done  raining  in  England,  is  to 
expect  the  millenium. 

London  in  the  morning — I  mean  the  poor  man's 
morning,  daylight — is  to  me  matter  for  the  most 
speculative  and  intense  melancholy.  Hyde  Park 
in  the  sunshine  of  a  bright  afternoon,  glittering  with 
equipages  and  gay  with  the  Aladdin  splendours  of 
rank  and  wealth,  is  a  scene  which  sends  the  mer 
curial  qualities  of  the  blood  trippingly  through  the 
veins.  But  Hyde  Park  at  daylight  seen  from 
Piccadilly  through  fog  and  rain,  is  perhaps,  of  all 
contrasts,  to  one  who  has  frequented  it  in  its  bright 


£72  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 

hours,  the  most  dispiriting  and  dreary.  To  remem 
ber  that,  behind  the  barricaded  and  wet  windows 
of  Apsley  House,  sleeps  the  hero  of  Waterloo ;  that 
within  the  dripping  and  close-shuttered  balcony 
visible  beyond,  slumbers  and  dreams  in  her  splen 
did  beauty  the  gifted  woman,  to  whom  Moore  has 
swung  his  censer  of  glorious  incense,  whom  Byron 
has  sought,  whom  all  the  genius  of  England  gath 
ers  about  and  acknowledges  supreme  over  minds 
like  her  own — that  under  these  crowded  and  fog- 
wrapped  houses  lie  in  their  dim  chambers,  breath 
ing  of  perfume  and  luxury,  the  high-born  and  nobly- 
moulded  creatures  who  preserve  for  the  aristo 
cracy  of  England  the  palm  of  the  world's  beauty 
— to  remember  this,  and  a  thousand  other  associa 
tions  linked  with  the  spot,  is  not  at  all  to  dimmish, 
but  rather  to  deepen  the  melancholy  of  the  picture. 
Why  is  it  that  the  deserted  stage  of  a  theatre, 
the  echo  of  an  empty  ball-room,  the  loneliness  of  a 
frequented  promenade  in  untimely  hours — any 
scene,  in  short,  of  gayety  gone  by  but  remember 
ed—oppresses  and  dissatisfies  tfye  hrvirt!  One 
would  think  memory  should  re-bright  HI  and  re- 
populate  such  places. 

The  wheels  hissed  through  the  shn'!» v,  pools  in 
the  Macad  irn  road,  the  regular  patl  '  of  the 
small  hoofs  in  the  wei,  carriage-trap  ntained 

its  quick   aad   monotomous   beat,  on     '"      ar;  the 


BTRATFOKD-ON-AYON.  273 

silent  driver  kept  his  eye  on  the  traces,  and  "  remin 
ded"  now  and  then  with  but  the  weight  of  his  silk 
snapper  a  lagging  wheeler  or  leader,  and  the 
complicated  but  compact  machine  of  which  the 
square  foot  that  I  occupied  had  been  so  nicely 
calculated,  sped  on  its  ten  miles  in  the  hour  with 
the  steadfastness  of  a  star  in  its  orbit,  and  as  inde 
pendent  of  clouds  and  rain. 

"  Est  ce  que  monsieur  parle  Francois  ?"  asked 
at  the  end  of  the  first  stage  my  right-hand  neigh 
bour,  a  little  gentleman,  of  whom  I  had  hitherto 
only  remarked  that  he  was  holding  on  to  the  iron 
railing  of  the  seat  with  great  tenacity. 

Having  admited  in  an  evil  moment  that  I  had 
been  in  France,  I  was  first  distinctly  made  to 
understand  that  my  neighbour  was  on  his  way  to 
Birmingham  purely  for  pleasure,  and  without  the 
most  distant  object  of  business — a  point  on  which 
he  insisted  so  long,  and  recurred  to  so  often,  that 
he  succeeded  at  last  in  persuading  me  that  he  was 
doubtless  a  candidate  for  the  French  clerkship  of 
some  exporter  of  buttons.  After  listening  to  an 
amusing  dissertation  on  the  rashness  of  committing 
one's  life  to  an  English  stage-coach,  with  scarce 
room  enough  for  the  perch  of  a  parrot,  and  a 
velocity  so  diabkment  dangereux,  I  tired  of  my 
Frenchman  \  and,  * ince  I  could  not  have  my  own 
thought*  in  peace,  opened  a  conversation  with  a 


274  ROMANCE    OF    TRAVEL. 


straw-bonnet  and  shawl  on  my  left — the  property,  I 
soon  discovered,  of  a  very  smart  lady's  maid,  very 
indignant  at  having  been  made  to  change  places 
with  Master  George,  who,  with  his  mother  and  her 
mistress,  were  dry  and  comfortable  inside.  She 
"would  not  have  minded  the  outside  place,"  she 
said,  "  for  there  were  sometimes  very  agreeable 
gentlemen  on  the  outside,  very! — but  she  had  been 
promised  to  go  inside,  and  had  dressed  accordingly ; 
and  it  was  very  provoking  to  spoil  a  nice  new 
shawl  and  best  bonnet,  just  because  a  great  school 
boy,  that  had  nothing  on  that  would  damage,  chose 
not  to  ride  in  the  rain. " 

"  Very  provoking,  indeed ! "  I  responded,  letting 
in  the  rain  upon  myself  unconsciously,  in  extending 
my  umbrella  forward  so  as  to  protect  her  on  the 
side  of  the  wind. 

"  We  should  have  gone  down  in  the  carriage 
sir,"  she  continued,  edging  a  little  closer  to  get  the 
full  advantage  of  my  umbrella;  "but  John  the 
coachman  has  got  the  hinfluenzy,  and  my  missis 
won't  be  driven  by  no  other  coachman ;  she's  as 
obstinate  as  a  mule,  sir.  And  that  isn't  all  I  could 
tell,  sir ;  but  I  scorns  to  hurt  the  character  of  one  of 
my  own  sex. "  And  the  pretty  Abigal  pursed  up 
her  red  lips,  and  looked  determined  not  to  destroy 
her  mistress's  character — unless  particularly  re 
quested. 


STB  ATFORD-ON-A  VON.  275 

I  detest  what  may  be  called  a  proper  road-book 
^-— even  would  it  be  less  absurd  than  it  is  to  write 
one  on  a  country  so  well  conned  as  England. 

I  shall  say  nothing  therefore  of  Marlow,  which 
looked  the  picture  of  rural  lovliness  though  seen 
through  fog,  nor  of  Oxford,  of  which  all  I  remem 
ber  is  that  I  dined  there  with  my  teeth  chattering, 
and  my  knees  saturated  with  rain.  All  England  is 
lovely  to  the  wild  eye  of  an  American  unused  to 
high  cultivation ;  and  though  my  enthusiasm  was 
somewhat  damp,  I  arrived  at  the  bridge  over  the 
Avon,  blessing  England  sufficiently  for  its  beauty, 
and  much  more  for  the  speed  of  its  coaches. 

The  Avon,  above  and  below  the  bridge,  ran 
brightly  along  between  low  banks,  half  sward,  half 
meadow;  and  on  the  other  side  lay  the  native  town 
of  the  immortal  wool-comber — a  gay  cheerful-look 
ing  village,  narrowing  in  the  centre  to  a  closely 
built  street,  across  which  swung,  broad  and  fair, 
the  sign  of  the  Red  Horse.  More  ambitious  hotels 
lay  beyond,  and  broader  streets ;  but  while  Wash 
ington  Irving  is  remembered,  (and  that  will  be, 
while  the  language  lasts,)  the  quiet  inn  in  which  the 
great  Geoffrey  thought  and  wrote  of  Shakespeare, 
will  be  the  altar  of  the  pilgrim's  devotions. 

My  baggage  was  set  down,  the  coachman  and 
guard  tipped  their  hats  for  a  shilling,  and,  chilled  to 
the  bone,  I  raised  my  hat  instinctively  to  the  cour- 


276  ROMANCE    OF  TRAVEL. 

tesy  of  a  slender  gentlewoman  in  black,  who,  by 
the  keys  at  her  girdle,  should  be  the  landlady. 
Having  expected  to  see  a  rosy  little  Mrs.  Boniface, 
with  a  brown  pinafore  and  worstedjnittens,  I  made 
up  my  mind  at  once  that  the  inn  had  changed 
mistresses.  On  the  right  of  the  old-fashioned 
entrance  blazed  cheerily  the  kitchen  fire,  and  with 
my  enthusiasm  rather  dashed  by  my  disappoint 
ment,  I  stepped  in  to  make  friends  with  the  cook, 
and  get  a  little  warmth  and  information. 

"  So  your  old  mistress  is  dead,  Mrs.  Cook, "  said 
I,  rubbing  my  hands  with  great  satisfaction  between 
the  fire  and  a  well-roasted  chicken. 

"  Lauk,  sir,  no,  she  isn't  1"  answered  the  rosy  lass, 
pointing  with  a  dredging-box  to  the  same  respect 
able  lady  in  black  who  was  just  entering  to  look 
after  me. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  she  said,  dropping  a  cour 
tesy;  "but  are  you  the  gentleman  expected  by  Sir 
Charles ?" 

"Yes,  madam!     And  can  you  tell  me  anything 
of  your  predecessor  who  had  the  inn  in  the  days  of  \ 
Washington  Irving?" 

She  dropped  another  courtesy,  and  drew  up  her 
thin  person  to  its  full  height,  while  a  smile  of  grati-  , 
fied  vanity  stole  out  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"The  carriage  has  been  waiting  some  time  for  * 
you,  sir, "she  said,  with  a  softer  tone  than  that  in  r 


STRATFORD-ON-AVOW.  277 

which  she  had  hitherto  addressed  me;  and  you 

will  scarce  be  at  C in  time  for  dinner.     You 

will  be  coming  over  to-morrow  or  the  day  after 
perhaps,  sir;  and  then,  if  you  would  honor  my  little 
room  by  taking  a  cup  of  tea  with  me,  I  should  be 
pleased  to  tell  you  all  about  it,  sir." 

I  remembered  a  promise  I  had  nearly  forgotten, 
that  I  would  reserve  my  visit  to  Stratford  till  I 

could  be  accompanied  by  Miss  J.  P ,  whom  I 

was  to  have  the  honor  of  meeting  at  my  place  of 
destination,  and  promising  an  early  acceptance  of 
the  kind  landlady^  invitation,  I  hurried  on  to  my 
appointment  over  the  fertile  hills  of  Warwickshire. 

I  was  established  in  one  of  those  old  Elizabethan 
country  houses,  which,  with  their  vast  parks,  their 
self-sufficing  resources  of  subsistence  and  company, 
and  the  absolute  deference  shown  on  all  sides  to 
the  lord  of  the  manor,  give  one  the  impression 
rather  of  a  little  kingdom  with  a  castle  in  its  heart, 
than  of  an  abode  for  a  gentleman  subject.  The 
house  itself  (called  like  most  houses  of  this  size  and 
consequence  in  Warwickshire,  a  "Court,")  was  n 
Gothic,  half  castellated  square,  with  four  roum1 
towers,  and  innumerable  embrasures  and  windows : 
two  wings  in  front,  probably  more  modern  than  tho 
body  of  the  house,  and  again  two  long  win^s 
extending  to  the  rear,  at  right  angles,  and  enclosing 
a  flowery  and  formal  parterre.  There  had  been  a 
24 


278  ROMANCE!   of  TRAVEL. 

trench  about  it,  now  filled  up,  and  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  house  stood  a  polyangular  and  massive 
structure,  well  calculated  for  defence,  and  intended 
as  a  stronghold  for  the  retreat  of  the  family  and  ten 
ants  in  more  troubled  times.     One  of  these  rear 
wings  enclosed  a  Catholic  chapel,  for  the  worship 
of  the  baronet  and  those  of  his  tenants  who  professed 
the  same  faith ;  while  on  the  northern  side,  between 
the  house  and  the  garden,  stood  a  large  Protestant 
stone  church,  with  a  turret  and  spire,  both  chapel 
and  church,  with  their  clergyman  and  priest,  depen 
dent  on  the  estate,  and  equally  favoured  by  the 
liberal   and   high-minded   baronet.     The   tenantry 
formed  two  considerable  congregations,  and  lived 
and  worshipped  side  by  side,  with  the  most  perfect 
harmony — an  instance  of  real  Christianity,  in  my 
opinion,  which  the  angels  of  heaven  might  come 
down  to  see.     A  lovely  rural  graveyard  for   the 
lord  and  his  tenants,  and  a  secluded  lake  below  the 
garden,  in  which  hundreds  of  wild  duck  swan  and 
screamed  unmolested,  completed  the  outward  fea 
tures  of  C —  -  Court. 

There  are  noble  houses  in  England,  with  a  door 
communicating  from  the  dining-room  to  the  stables, 
that  the  master  and  his  friends  may  see  their  fa 
vourites,  after  dinner,  without  exposure  to  the 
weather.  In  the  place  of  this  rather  bizarre  luxury, 
the  oak  pannelled  and  spacious  dining-hall  of  C 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  279 

is  on  a  level  with  the  organ  loft  of  the  chapel,  and 
when  the  cloth  is  removed,  the  large  door  between 
is  thrown  open,  and  the  noble  instrument  pours  the 
rich  and  thrilling  music  of  vespers  through  the 
rooms.  When  the  service  is  concluded,  and  the 
lights  on  the  altar  extinguished,  the  blind  organist 
(an  accomplished  musician,  and  a  tenant  on  the 
estate)  continues  his  voluntaries  in  the  dark  until 
the  hall-door  informs  him  of  the  retreat  of  the 
company  to  the  drawing-room.  There  is  not  only 
refinement  and  luxury  in  this  beautiful  arrangement? 
but  food  for  the  soul  and  heart. 

1  chose  my  room  from  among  the  endless  vacant 
but  equally  luxurious  chambers  of  the  rambling  old 
house;  my  preference  solely  directed  by  the  por 
trait  of  a  nun,  one  of  the  family  in  ages  gone  by — a 
picture  full  of  melancholy  beauty,  which  hung 
opposite  the  window.  The  face  was  distinguished 
by  all  that  in  England  marks  the  gentlewoman  of 
ancient  and  pure  descent;  and  while  it  was  a 
woman  with  the  more  tender  qualites  of  her  sex 
breathing  through  her  features,  it  was  still  a  lofty 
and  sainted  sister,  true  to  her  cross,  and  sincere  in 
her  vows  and  seclusion.  It  was  the  work  of  a 
master,  probably  Vandyke,  and  a  picture  in  which 
the  most  solitary  man  would  find  company  and 
communion.  On  the  other  walls,  and  in  most  of 
the  other  rooms  and  corridors  were  distributed 


280  ROMANCE    OF     TRAVEL. 

portraits  of  the  gentleman  and  soldiers  of  the  fa 
mily,  most  of  them  bearing  some  resemblance  to  the 
nun,  but  differing,  as  brothers  in  those  wild  times 
may  be  supposed  to  have  differed,  from  the  gentle 
creatures  of  the  same  blood,  nursed  in  the  privacy 
of  peace. 

One  of  the  first  visits  in  the  neighbourhood  was 
naturally  to  Stratford-on-Avon.  It  lay  some  ten 
miles  south  of  us,  and  I  drove  down,  with  that  dis 
tinguished  literary  friend  I  have  before  mentioned, 
in  the  carriage  of  our  kind  host,  securing,  by  the 
presence  of  his  servants  and  equippage,  a  degree  of 
respect  and  attention  which  would  not  have  been 
accorded  to  us  in  our  simple  character  of  travellers. 
The  prim  mistress  of  the  Red  Lion,  in  her  close 
black  bonnet  and  widow's  weeds,  received  us  at 
the  door  with  a  deeper  courtesy  than  usual,  and  a 
smile  of  less  wintry  formality;  and  proposing  to 
dine  at  the  inn,  and  "suck  the  brain"  of  the  hostess 
more  at  our  leisure,  we  started  immediately  for  the 
house  of  the  wool-comber — the  birthplace  of  Shaks- 
peare. 

Stratford  should  have  been  forbidden  ground  to 
builders,  masons,  shopkeepers,  and  generally  to  all 
people  of  thrift  and  whitewash.  It  is  now  rather 
a  smart  town,  with  gay  calicoes,  shawls  of  the  last 
pattern,  hardware,  aiyl  millinery,  exhibited  in  all 


al«RATF«aD-ON-  AVON. 

their  splendour  down  the  widened  and  newer 
streets ;  and  though  here  and  there  remains  a  glori 
ous  old  gloomy  and  inconvenient  abode,  which 
looks  as  if  Shakspeare  might  have  taken  shelter 
under  its  eaves,  the  gayer  features  of  the  town 
have  the  best  of  it,  and  flaunt  their  gaudy  and 
unrespected  newness  in  the  very  windows  of  that 
immortal  birthplace.  I  stepped  into  a  shop  to 
inquire  the  way  to  it. 

"Shiksper's'ouse,  sir?  Yes,  sir!"  said  a  drap- 
per  clerk,  with  his  hair  astonished  into  the  most 
impossible  directions  by  force  of  brushing;  "keep 
to  the  right,  sir !  Shiksper  lived  in  the  white  'ouse, 
sir — the  'ouse,  you  see  beyond,  with  the  windy 
swung  up,  sir." 

A  low,  old-fashioned  house,  with  a  window  sus 
pended  on  a  hinge,  newly  whitewashed  and  scrub 
bed,  stood  a  little  up  the  street.  A  sign  over  the 
door  informed  us  in  an  inflated  paragraph,  that  the 
immortal  Will  Shakspeare  was .  born  under  this 
roof,  and  that  an  old  woman  within  would  show  it 
to  us  for  a  consideration.  It  had  been  used  until 
very  lately,  1  had  been  told,  for  a  butcher's  shop. 

A  "garrulous  old  lady"  met  us  at  the  bottom  of 
the  narrow  stair  leading  to  the  second  floor,  and 
began — not  to  say  anything  of  Shakspeare — but  to 
show,  us  the  names  of  Byron,  Moore,  Rogers,  etc., 
written  among  thousands  of  others  on  the  wall! 
24* 


ROMANCE     OF     TRAVEL. 

She  had  worn  out  Shakspeare !  She  had  told  that 
story  till  she  was  tired  of  it!  or  (what  perhaps  is 
more  probable)  most  people  \vho  go  there  fall  to 
reading  the  names  of  the  visitors  so  industriously, 
that  she  has  grown  to  think  some  of  Shakspeare' s 
pilgrims  greater  than  Shakspeare. 

"  Was  this  old  oaken  chest  here  in  the  days  of 
Shakspeare,  madam,"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  and  here's  the  name  of  Byron — here 
with  a  capital  R     Here  s  a  curiosity,  sir." 

"And  this  small  wooden  box?" 

"Made  of  Shakspeare's  mulberry,  sir.  I  had 
sich  a  time  abort!,  that  box,  sir.  Two  young  gem- 
maii  were  here  tfn  other  day — just  run  up  while 
the  coach  was  changing  horses,  to  see  the  house. 
As  soon  as  they  were  i^ono  I  misses  the  box.  Off 
scuds  my  son  to-  the  Red  Lion,  and  there  they  sat 
on  the  top  looking  as  innocent  as  may  be.  "  Stop 
the  coach,"  says  my  son.  "What  do  you  want," 
says  the  driver.  "My  mother's  mulberry  box? — 
Shakspeare's  mulberry  box f— One  of  them  'ere 
young  men's  got  it  in  his  pocket."  And  true 
enough^  sir*  one  on<  *em  had  the  imperence  to  take 
it  out  of  his  po-.'ket  and  ffings  it  into  my  son's 
fece;  and  you  kn  >w  the  coach  nev^r  stops  a  min- 
Bit  for  nothing  sir,  or  he'd  a*  smarted  for  it."' 

Spirit  of  Sh;ik«r»oare!  dost  thou  n->t  sometimes 
w.ilk.  alone  in  this  humble  ohambo        Must  one's 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  283 

inmost  soul  be  fretted  and  frighted  always  from  its 
devotion  by  an  abominable  old  woman?  Why 
should  not  such  lucrative  occupations  be  given  in 
charity  to  the  deaf  and  dumb?  The  pointing  of  a 
finger  were  enough  in  such  spots  of  earth ! 

I  sat  down  in  despair  to  look  over  the  book  of 
visiters,  trusting  that  she  would  tire  of  my  inatten 
tion.  As  it  was  of  no  use  to  point  out  names  to 
those  who  would  not  look,  however,  she  commen 
ced  a  long  story  of  an  American,  who  had  lately 
taken  the  whim  to  sleep  in  Shakspeare's  birth- 
chamber.  She  had  shaken  him  down  a  bed  on 
the  floor,  and  he  had  passed  the  night  there.  It 
seemed  to  bother  her  to  comprehend  why  two- 
thirds  of  her  visiters  should  be  Americans — a  cir 
cumstance  that  was  abundantly  proved  by  the 
books. 

It  was  only  when  we  were  fairfy  in  the  street 
that  I  began  to  realize  that  I  had  seen  one  of  the 
most  glorious  altars  of  memory — -that  deathless  Will 
Shakspeare,  the  mortal,  who  was,  perhaps,  (not  to 
speak  profanely)  next  to  his  Maker,  in  the  divine 
faculty  of  creation,  first  saw  the  light  through  the 
low  lattice  om  which  we  turned  back  to  took. 

The  single  window  of  the  room  in  which  Scott 
died  at  Abottsford,  and  this  in  the  birth-chamber 
of  Shakspeare,  have  seemed  to  me  almost  marked 
with  the  touch  of  the  tire  ot  those  great 


284  ROMANCE  OP   TRAVEL. 

think  we  have  an  instinct  which  tells  us  on  the  spot 
where  mighty  spirits  have  come  or  gone,  that  they 
came  and  went  with  the  light  of  heaven. 

We  walked    down  the  street  to  see  the  house 
where   Shakspeare  lived  on  his  return  to  Strat 
ford.     It  stands  at  the   corner  of  a  lane,  not  far 
from  the  church  were  he  was  buried,  and  is  a  new 
ish   un-Shaksperian  looking  place — no  doubt,  if  it 
lic  indeed  the  same  house,  most  profanely  and  con- 
*•  derably  altered.     The  present  proprietor  or  occu 
pant  of  the  house  or  site,  took  upon  himself  some 
-ime  since  the  odium  of  cutting  down  the  famous  mul- 
oerry  tree  planted  by  the  poet's  hand  in  the  garden. 
I  forgot  to  mention  in  the  beginning  of  these  notes 
that  two  or    three  miles  before  coming  to  Strat 
ford,  we  passed   through  Shottery,.  where   Anne 
Hathaway  lived.     A  nephew  of  the  excellent  baro 
net  whose    guests    we  were,  occupies  the  house. 
I  looked  up  and  down  the  green  lanes  about  it,  and 
glanced  my  eye  round   upon  the  hills  over  which 
the  sun  has  continued   to  set  and  the  moon  to  ride 
in    her   love-inspiring    beauty   ever   since.     There 
were  doubtless  outl'nes  in  the  landscape  which  had 
been  followed  by  the  eye  of  Shakspeare  when  com 
ing,  a  trembling  lover,  to  Shottery-doubtless.  teints 
in  the  sky,  crops  on  the  fields,  smoke-wreaths  from 
the  old  homesteads  on  the  hill-sides,  which  are  little 
altered  now.     How  daringly  the  imagination  plucks 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  285 

back  the  past  in  such  places  !  How  boldly  we  ask 
of  fancy  and  probability  the  thousand  questions  we 
would  put,  if  we  might,  to  the  magic  mirror  of 
Agrippa?  Did  that  great  mortal  love  timidly,  like 
ourselves?  Was  the  passionate  outpouring  of  his 
heart  simple,  and  suited  to  the  humble  condition  of 
Anne  Hathaway,  or  was  it  the  first  fiery  coinage  of 
Romeo  and  Othello?  Did  she  know  the  immortal 
honour  and  light  poured  upon  woman  by  the  love 
of  genius?  Did  she  know  how  this  common  and 
oftenest  terrestrial  passion  becomes  fused  in  the 
poet's  bosom  with  celestial  fire,  and,  in  its  won 
drous  elevation  and  purity,  ascends  lambently  and 
musically  to  the  very  stars !  Did  she  coy  it  with 
him?  Was  she  a  woman  to  him,  as  commoner 
mortals  find  woman — capricious,  tender,  cruel, 
intoxicating,  cold — everything  by  changes  impossi 
ble  to  calculate  or  foresee  I  Did  he  walk  home  to 
Stratford,  sometimes,  despairing  in  perfect  sick- 
heartedness  of  her  affection,  and  was  he  recalled 
by  a  message  or  a  lover's  instinct  to  find  her  weep 
ing  and  passionately  repentant? 

How  natural  it  is  by  such  questions  and  specula 
tions  to  betray  our  innate  desire  to  bring  the  lofty 
spirits  of  our  common  mould  to  our  own  inward 
level — to  seek  analogies  between  our  affections,  pas 
sions,  appetites  and  theirs-to  wish  they  might  have 
been  no  more  exalted,  no  more  fervent,  no  more 


286  ROMANCE    OP    TRAVEL. 

worthy  of  the  adorable  love  of  woman  than  our 
selves  !  The  same  temper  that  prompts  the  depre 
ciation,  the  envy,  the  hatred  exercised  toward  the 
poet  in  his  lifetime,  mingles,  not  inconsiderably,  in 
the  researches  so  industriously  prosecuted  after  his 
death  into  his  youth  and  history.  To  be  admired 
in  this  world,  and  much  more  to  be  beloved  for 
higher  qualites  than  his  fellow-men,  ensures  to 
genius  not  only  to  be  persecuted  in  life,  but  to  be 
ferretted  out  with  all  his  frailties  and  imperfections 
from  the  grave. 

The  church  in  which  Shakspeare  is  buried  stands 
near  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  and  is  a  most  pictu 
resque  and  proper  place  of  repose  for  his  ashes. 
An  avenue  of  small  trees  and  vines,  ingeniously 
over-laced,  extends  from  the  street  to  the  principal 
door,  and  the  interior  is  broken  up  into  that  confus 
ed  and  accidental  medley  of  tombs,  pews,  cross- 
lights,  and  pillars,  for  which  the  old  churches  of 
England  are  remarkable.  The  tomb  and  effigy  of 
the  great  poet,  lie  in  an  inner  chapel,  nnd  are  as 
described  in  every  traveller's  book.  I  will  not 
take  up  room  with  the  repetition. 

It  gives  one  an  odd  feeling  to  see  the  tomb  of  his 
wife  and  daughter  beside  him.  One  does  not  real 
ize  before,  that  Shakspeare  had  wife,  children, 
kinsmen,  like  other  men — that  there  were  those 
who  had  a  right  to  lie  in  the  same  tomb;  to  whom 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  287 

he  owed  the  charites  of  life ;  whom  he  mny  have 
beriefitted  or  offended ;  who  may  have  influenced 
materially  his  destiny,  or  he  theirs ;  who  were  the 
inheritors  of  his  household  goods,  his  wardrobe, 
his  books — people  who  looked  on  him — on  Shaks- 
peare — as  a  landholder,  a  renter  of  a  pew,  a  towns 
man  ;  a  relative,  in  short,  who  had  claims  upon 
them,  not  for  the  eternal  homage  due  to  celestial 
inspiration,  but  for  the  charity  of  shelter  and  bread 
had  he  been  poor,  for  kindness  and  ministry  had  he 
been  sick,  for  burial  and  the  tears  of  natural  affection 
when  he  died.  It  is  painful  and  embarrassing  to  the 
mind  to  go  to  Stratford — to  reconcile  the  immor 
tality  and  the  incomprehensible  power  of  genius  like 
Shakspeare's,  with  the  space,  tenement  and  cir 
cumstance  of  a  man !  The  poet  should  be  like  the 
sea-bird,  seen  only  on  the  wing — his  birth,  his  slum 
ber  and  his  death  mysteries  alike. 

I  had  stipulated  with  the  hostess  that  my  bag 
gage  should  be  put  into  the  chamber  occupied  by 
Washington  Irving.  I  was  shown  into  it  to  dress 
for  dinner — a  small,  neat  room,  a  perfect  specimen 
in  short  of  an  English  bed-room,  with  snow-white 
curtains,  a  looking  glass  the  size  of  the  face,  a  well- 
polished  grate  and  poker,  a  well  fitted  carpet,  and 
as  much  light  as  heaven  permits  to  the  climate. 

Our  dinner  for  two  was  served  in  a  neat  parlor 
on  the  same  floor — an  English  inn  dinner — simple, 


288  ROMANCE    OP    TRAVEL. 

neat  and  comfortable  in  the  sense  of  that  word 
unknown  in  other  countries.  There  was  just  fire 
enough  in  the  grate,  just  enough  for  two  in  the 
different  dishes,  a  servant  who  was  just  enough  in 
the  room,  and  just  civil  enough — in  short,  it  was, 
like  every  thing  else  in  that  country  of  adaptation 
and  fitness,  just  what  was  ordered  and  wanted,  and 
no  more. 

The  evening  turned  out  stormy,  and  the  rain 
pattered  merrily  against  the  windows.  The  shut 
ters  were  closed,  the  fire  blazed  up  with  new 
brightness,  the  well  fitted  wax-lights  were  set  on 
the  table,  and  when  the  dishes  were  removed,  we 
replaced  the  wine  with  a  tea-tray,  and  sent  for  the 
hostess  to  give  us  her  company  and  a  little  gossip 
over  our  cups. 

Nothing  could  be  more  nicely  understood  and 
defined  than  the  manner  of  English  hostesses 
generally  in  such  situations,  and  of  Mrs.  Gardiner 
particularly  in  this.  Respectful  without  servility, 
perfectly  sure  of  the  propriety  of  her  own  manner 
and  mode  of  expression,  yet  preserving  in  every  look 
and  word  the  proper  distinction  between  herself 
and  her  guests,  she  ensured  from  them  that  kindness 
and  ease  of  communication  which  would  make  a 
long  evening  of  social  conversation  pass  not  only 
without  embarrassment  on  either  side,  but  with 
mutual  pleasure  and  gratification. 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON.  289 

"  I  have  brought  up,  mem,"  she  said,  producing 
a  well-polished  poker  from  under  her  black  apron 
before  she  took  the  chair  set  for  her  at  the  table,  "  I 
have  brought  up  a  relic  for  you  to  see  that  no 
money  would  buy  from  me." 

She  turned  it  over  in  my  hand,  and  I  read  on  one 
of  the  flat  sides  at  the  bottom,  "  GEOFFREY  CRAYON'S 
SCEPTRE.  " 

"Do  you  remember  Mr.  Irving,"  asked  my 
friend,  "or  have  you  supposed,  since  reading  his 
sketch  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  that  the  gentleman  in 
number  three  might  be  the  person?" 

The  hostess  drew  up  her  thin  figure,  and  the 
expression  of  a  person  about  to  compliment  herself 
stole  into  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  Why,  you  see,  mem,  I  am  very  much  in  the 
habit  of  observing  my  guests,  and  I  think  I  may 
say  I  knows  a  super.or  gentleman  when  I  sees  him. 

"If  you  remember,  mem,"  (and  she  took  down 
from  the  mantle  piece  a  much  worn  copy  of  the 
Sketch-Book,)  GeofFery  Crayon  tells  the  circum 
stance  of  my  stepping  in  when  it  was  getting  late 
and  asking  if  he  had  rung.  I  knows  it  by  that, 
and  then  the  gentleman  I  mean  was  an  America^ 
and  I  th;nk,  mem,  besides,"  (and  she  hesitated  a 
little  as  if  she  was  about  to  advance  an  original 
and  rather  ventursome  opinion,)  "  I  think  I  can  see 

that  gentleman's  likeness  all  through  this  book," 
25 


290  ROMANCE    OP    TRAVEL. 

A  truer   remark   or  a  more  just  criticism 
perhaps   never   made   on   the  Sketch-Book.     We 
smiled,  and  Mrs.  Gardiner  preceded  : 

"  I  was  in  and  out  of  the  coffee-room  the  night  he 
arrived,  mem,  and  I  sees  directly  by  his  modest 
ways  and  timid  look  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and 
not  fit  company  for  the  other  travellers.  They 
were  all  young  men,  sir,  and  business  travellers,  and 
you  know,  mem,  ignorance  takes  the  advantage  of 
modest  merit,  and  after  their  dinner  they  were  very 
noisy  and  rude.  So,  I  says  to  Sarah,  the  chamber 
maid,  says  I,  that  nice  gentleman  can't  get  near  the 
fire,  and  you  go  and  light  a  fire  in  number  three 
and  he  shall  sit  alone,  and  it  shan't  cost  him  nothing' 
for  I  like  the  look  on  him,  Well,  mem,  he  seemed 
pleased,  to  be  alone,  and  after  his  tea,  he  puts  his 
legs  up  over  the  grate,  and  there  he  sits  with  the 
poker  in  his  hand  till  ten  o'clock.  The  other 
travellers  went  to  bed,  and  at  last  the  house  was 
as  still  as  midnight,  all  but  a  poke  in  the  grate  now 
and  then  in  number  three,  and  every  time  I  heard 
it  I  jumped  up  and  lit  a  bed-candle,  for  I  was 
getting  very  sleepy,  and  I  hoped  he  was  getting 
up  to  ring  for  a  light,.  Well,  rn^m.  I  nodded  and 
nodded,  and  still  no  ring  at  th^  boll.  At  last  I 
says  to  Sanh,  says  I,  go  into  irimber  three  and 
upset  something,  for  I  am  sure  tJrit  gentleman  has 
fallen  asleep.  'La,'  ma'am,'  s;iys  Sarah,  'I  don't 


STRATFORD- ON-AVON.  29 1 

dare.  Well,  then,  says  I,  I'll  go.  So  I  opens 
the  door,  and  I  says,  'If  you  please  sir,  did  you 
ring' — little  thinking  that  question  would  ever  be 
written  down  in  such  a  beautiful  book,  mem.  He 
sat  with  his  feet  on  the  fender  poking  the  fire,  and 
a  smile  on  his  face,  as  if  some  pleasant  thought 
was  in  his  mind.  'No, ma'am,'  says  he,  ' I  did  not.' 
I  shuts  the  door,  and  sits  down  again,  for  I  hadn't 
the  heart  to  tell  him  that  it  was  late,  for  he  was  a 
gentleman  not  to  speak  rudely  to,  mem.  Well,  it 
was  past  twelve  o'clock,  when  the  bell  did  ring. 
'There,'  says  I  to  Sarah, ' thank  heaven  he  has  done 
thinking,  and  we  can  go  to  bed.'  So  he  walked  up 
stairs  with  his  light,  and  the  next  morning  he  was 
up  early  and  off  to  the  Shakspeare  house,  and  he 
brings  me  home  a  box  of  the  mulberry  tree,  and 
asks  me  if  I  thought  it  was  genuine,  and  said  it  was 
for  his  mother  in  America.  And  I  loved  him  still 
more  for  that,  and  I'm  sure  I  prayed  she  might  live 
to  see  him  return." 

"1  believe  she  did,  Mrs.  Gardiner;  but  how  soon 
after  did  you  set  aside  the  poker." 

"Why,  sir,  you  see  there's  a  Mr.  Vincent  that 
comes  here  sometimes,  and  he  says  to  me  one  day, 
4  So,  Mrs.  Gardiner,  you're  finely  immortalized. 
Read  that.'  So  the  minnit  I  read  it,  I  remembered 
who  it  was  and  all  about  it,  and  I  runs  and  gets 
the  number  three  poker,  and  locks  it  up  safe  and 


292  ROMANCE    OF  TRAVEL. 

sound,  and  by  and  by  I  sends  it  to  Brummagem, 
and  has  his  name  engraved  on  it,  and  here  you  see 
it,  sir,  and  I  would' t  take  no  money  for  it." 

1  had  never  the  honor  to  meet  or  know  Mr.  Irving^ 
and  I  evidently  lost  ground  with  the  hostess  of  the 
Red  Horse  for  that  misfortune.  I  delighted  her,, 
however,  with  the  account  which  I  had  seen  in  a 
late  newspaper,  of  his  having  shot  a  buffalo  in  the 
praries  of  the  west,  and  she  soon  courtesied  herself 
out  and  left  me  to  the  delightful  society  of  the  dis 
tinguished  lady  who  had  accompanied  me.  Among 
all  my  many  loiterings  in  many  lands,  I  remember 
none  more  intellectually  pure  and  gratifying,  than 
this  at  Stratford-on-Avon.  My  sleep,  in  the  little 
bed  consecrated  by  the  slumbers  of  the  immortal 
Geoffery,  was  sweet  and  light,  and  I  write  myself 
his  debtor  far  a  large  share  of  the  pleasure  which 
genius  like  his  lavishes  on  the  workU 


Cfiarlccotr, 


ROMANCE  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHARLECOTE. 

ONCR  more  posting  through  Shottery  and  Strat- 
ford-on-Avon,  on  the  road  to  Kenilworth  and  War 
wick,  I  felt  a  pleasure  in  becoming  an  habitu6  in 
Shakspeare's  town — in  being  recognized  by  the 
Stratford  post-boys,  known  at  the  Stratford  Inn, 
and  remembered  at  the  toll-gates.  It  is  pleasant  to 
be  welcomed  byname  any  where ;  but  at  Stratford- 
on-Avon,  it  is  a  recognition  by  those  whose  fathers 
or  predecessors  were  the  companions  of  Shak- 
speare's  frolics.  Every  fellow  in  a  slouched  hat — 
every  idler  on  a  tavern  bench — every  saunterer 
with  a  dog  at  his  heels  on  ihe  highway,  should  be  a 
deer-stealer  from  Charlecote.  You  would  I  most  ask 
him,  "Was  Will  Shakspeare  with  you  last  night?" 
•"  The  Lucys  still  live  at  Charlecote,  immortalized 
by  a  varlet  poacher  who  was  tried  before  old  Sir 


296'  ROMANCE     OP     TRAVEL.. 

Thomas  for  stealing  a  buck.  They  have  drawn  an? 
apology  from  Walter  Savage  Landor  for  making 
too  free  with  the  family  history,  under  cover  of  an, 
imaginary  account  of  the  trial.  I  thought,  as  we 
drove  along  in  sight  of  the  fine  old  hal!,  with  its  broad 
park  and  majestic  trees — (very  much  as  it  stood  in 
the  days  of  Sir  Thomas,  I  believe) — that  most  pro 
bably  the  descendants  of  the  old  justice  look  even 
now  upon  Shakspeare  more  as  an  offender  against 
the  game-laws,  than  as  a  writer  of  immortal  plays. 
I  venture  to  say,  it  would  be  bad  tact  in  a  visiter  to 
Charlecote  to  felicitate  the  family  on  the  honour  of 
possessing  a  park  in  which  Shakspeare  had  stolen 
deer — to  show  more  interest  in  seeing  the  hall  in 
which  he  was  tried,  than  in  the  family  portraits. 

On  the  road  which  I  was  travelling,  (from  Strat 
ford  to  Charlecote,)  Shakspeare  had  been  dragged 
as  a  culprit.  What  were  his  feelings  before  Sir 
Thomas  !  He  felt,  doubtless,  as  every  possessor  of 
the  divine  fire  of  genius  must  feel,  when  brought 
rudely  in  contact  with  his  fellow-men,  that  he  was 
too  much  their  superior  to  be  angry.  The  humour 
in  which  he  has  drawn  Justice  Shallow,  proves 
abundantly  that  he  was  more  amused  than  displeas 
ed  with  his  owft  trial.  But  was  there  no  vexation 
at  the  moment?  A  reflection,  it  might  be,  from  the 
estimate  of  his  position  in  the  minds  of  those  who 
were  about  him — who  looked  on  him  simply  as  a 


CHARLECOTE.  279 

stealer  of  so  much  venison.  Did  he  care  for  Anne 
Hatha way's  opinion,  then? 

How  little  did  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  understand  the 
relation  between  judge  and  culprit  on  that  trial! — 
How  littld  did  he  dream  he  was  sitting  for  his  pic 
ture  to  the  pestilent  varlet  at  the  bar;  that  the 
deer-stealer  could  better  afford  to  forgive  him,  than 
he  the  deer-stealer.  Genius  forgives,  or  rather  for 
gets,  all  wrongs  done  in  ignorance  of  its  immortal 
presence.  Had  Ben  Johnson  made  a  wilful  jest  on 
a  line  in  his  new  play,  it  would  have  rankled  longer 
than  fine  and  imprisonment  for  deer-stealing.  Those 
who  crowd  back  and  trample  upon  men  of  genius 
in  the  common  walk  of  life ;  who  cheat  them,  mis 
represent  them,  take  advantage  of  their  inattention 
or  their  generosity  in  worldly  matters,  are  some 
times  surprised  how  their  injuries,  if  not  themselves, 
are  forgotten.  Old  Adam  Woodcock  might  as  well 
have  held  malice  against  Roland  Graeme  for  the 
stab  in  the  stuffed  doublet  of  the  Abbot  of  Misrule. 

Yet,  as  I  might  have  remarked  in  the  paragraph 
gone  before,  it  is  probably  not  easy  to  put  conscious 
and  secret  superiority  entirely  between  the  mind 
and  the  opinions  of  those  around  who  think  differ 
ently.  It  is  one  reason  why  men  of  genius  love 
more  than  the  common  share  of  solitude — to  recover 
self-respect.  In  the  midst  of  the  amusing  travesty 
he  was  drawing  in  his  own  mind  of  the  grave  scenu 


298  ROMANCE     OP     TRAVEL. 

about  him,  Shakspeare  possibly  felt  at  moments  as 
like  a  detected  culprit  as  he  seemed  to  the  game 
keeper  and  the  justice.  It  is  a  small  penalty  to  pay 
for  the  after  worship  of  the  world !  The  ragged  and 
proverbially  ill-dressed  peasants  who  are  selected 
from  the  whole  campagna,  as  models  to  the  sculp 
tors  of  Rome,  care  little  what  is  thought  of  their 
good  looks  in  the  Corso.  The  disguised  proportions 
beneath  their  rags  will  be  admired  in  deathless  mar 
ble,  when  the  noble  who  scarce  deigns  their  posses 
sor  a  look,  will  lie  in  forgotten  dust  under  his  stone 
scutcheon. 


Were  it  not  for  the  "  out-heroded"  descriptions 
in  the  Guide-Books,  one  might  say  a  great  deal  of 
Warwick  Castle.  It  is  the  quality  of  over-done 
or  ill-expressed  enthusiasm,  to  silence  that  which  is 
more  rational  and  real.  Warwick  is,  perhaps,  the 
best  kept  of  all  the  famous  old  castles  of  England. 
It  is  superb  and  admirably  appointed  modern  dwel 
ling,  in  the  shell,  and  with  all  the  means  and  appli 
ances  preserved,  of  an  ancient  strong-hold.  It  is  a 
curious  union,  too.  My  lady's  maid  and  my  lord's 
valet,  coquet  upon  the  bartizan,  where  old  Guy  of 
Warwick  stalked  in  his  coat  of  mail.  The  London 
cockney,  from  his  two  days  watering  at  Leaming 
ton,  stops  his  poney-chaise,  hired  at  half-a-crown 
the  hour,  and  walks  Mrs.  Popkins  over  the  old 


CHARLECOTE*  299 

draw-bridge  as  peacefully,  as  if  it  were  the  threshold 
of  his  shop  in  the  Strand.  Scot  and  Frenchman 
saunter  through  fosse  and  tower,  and  no  ghost  of 
the  middle  ages  stalks  forth,  with  closed  visor,  to 
challenge  these  once  natural  foes.  The  powdered 
butler  yawns  through  an  embrazure,  expecting 
"  miladi,"  the  countess  of  this  fair  domain,  who  in 
one  day's  posting  from  London,  seeks  relief  in  War 
wick  Castle  from  the  routs  and  soirees  of  town. 
What  would  old  Guy  say,  or  the  "noble  imp"  whose 
effigy  is  among  the  escutcheoned  tombs  of  his  fa 
thers,  if  they  could  rise  through  their  marble  slabs, 
and  be  whirled  over  the  drawbridge  in  a  post- 
chaise?  How  indignantly  they  would  listen  to  the 
reckoning  within  their  own  portcullis,  of  the  rates 
for  chaise  and  postillion  !  How  astonished  they 
would  be  at  the  butler's  bow,  and  the  proffered 
officiousness  of  the  valet.  "  Shall  I  draw  off  your 
lordship's  boots.  Which  of  these  new  vests  from 
Staub  will  your  lordship  put  on  for  dinner. 

Among  the  pictures  at  Warwick,  I  was  interested 
by  a  portrait  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  (the  best  of  that 
sovereign  I  ever  saw ;)  one  of  Michiavelli,  one  of 
Essex,  and  one  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  The  delight 
ful  and  gifted  woman  whom  I  had  accompanied  to 
the  castle,  observed  of  the  latter,  that  the  hand  alone 
expressed  all  his  character.  I  had  often  made  the 
remark  in  real  life,  but  I  had  never  seen  an  instance 


300  ROMANCE  OP  TRAVEL. 

on  painting  where  the  likeness  was  so  true.  No 
one  could  doubt,  who  knew  Sir  Philip  Sidney's 
character,  that  it  was  a  literal  portrait  of  his  hand. 
In  our  day,  if  you  have  an  artist  for  a  friend,  he 
makes  use  of  you  while  you  call,  to  "sit  for  the 
hand"  of  the  portrait  on  his  easel.  Having  a  pre 
ference  for  the  society  of  artists  myself,  and  fre 
quenting  their  studios  considerably,  I  know  of  some 
hundred  and  fifty  unsuspecting  gentlemen  on  can 
vass,  who  have  procured  for  posterity  and  their 
children,  portraits  of  their  own  heads  and  dress-coats 
to  be  sure,  but  of  the  hands  of  other  persons  ! 

The  head  of  Machiavelli  is,  as  is  seen  in  the 
marble  in  the  gallery  of  Florence,  small,  slender, 
and  visibly  "made  to  creep  into  crevices."  The 
facn  is  impassive  and  calm,  and  the  lips,  though 
slight  and  [almost  feminine,  have  an  indefinable 
firmness  and  character.  Essex  is  the  bold,  plain, 
and  blunt  soldier  history  makes  him,  and  Elizabeth 
not  unqueenly,  nor  (to  my  thinking)  of  an  uninter 
esting  countenance ;  but,  with  all  the  artist's  flattery, 
ugly  enough  to  be  the  ab^de  of  the  murderous 
envy  that  brought  Mary  to  the  block. 

We  paid  our  five  shillings  for  having  been 
walked  through  the  marble  hall  of  Castle  Warwick, 
and  the  dressing-room  of  its  modern  lady,  and  gra 
tified  much  more  by  our  visit  than  I  have  expressed 
in  this  brief  description,  posted  on  to  Kenilworth. 


LOAN  DEPT. 


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